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The 

COUNTY PENNANT 


Books By William Heyliger 

The County Pennant 
Captain Fair-and-Square 
Don Strong of the Wolf Patrol 
Off Side 
Against Odds 
Strike Three! 

Bartley, Freshman Pitcher 

Bucking the Line 

The Captain of the Nine 

D. Appleton & Company 
Publishers New York 


178C 




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We're tied with Irontown again. 


O, you Schuyler boy !” 
[page 268] 









The 

COUNTY PENNANT 


BY 

WILLIAM HEYLIGER 

AUTHOB OV ‘‘captain rAIB-AND-SQUABK,” “DON 8TBONO OP TEX WOLP PATBOL,*^ 
“against odds,” BTC. 



ILLUSTRATED BY 

W. W. CLARKE 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
NEW YORK LONDON 


1917 



COPTBIGHT, 1917, BT 
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

Copyright, 1917, by 
The Spbague Publishing Compakt 


/ 



SEP 17 1917 


Printed in the United States of America 


4'>0I.A47352(j 


TO 


FRANKLIN K. MATHIEWS 


/ 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Boy from Irontown . i 

II. Schuyler is Jolted 17 

III. Sowing the Seed 33 

IV. A Note from Carrots 54 

V. The Field House 77 

VI. The First Break 102 

VII. Schuyler Reads a Note 13 1 

VIII. Schuyler Answers a Question 155 

IX. The First Thrill 183 

X. Tied! 212 

XI. Fighting for the Pennant 240 

XII. Fairview’s Glory 269 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


'‘We’re tied with Irontown again. O, you Schuyler 

boy!” . Frontispiece 

FACING 

PAGE 

"County champions!” he said 6 

"I’m a Fairview fellow, . . . and I want to see 

Fairview have what other schools have” . . 96 

He came toward them with his cap off ... a laugh 

in his eyes and on his face .... 252 



The 

COUNTY PENNANT 


CHAPTER I 

THE BOY FROM IRONTOWN 

I T was early March and snow covered the 
ground. Yet, in the newspaper that lay open 
on the bed in Buddy Joneses room, there was 
baseball news from the southern training camps 
and pictures of big league players in action. 

Three boys leaned over the paper. They were 
Buddy, captain of the Fairview High School nine; 
Poole, president of the Athletic Association; and 
Wally Hamilton, newly appointed official scorer of 
the team. 

Poole straightened his back and danced across 
the room. ‘‘About three more weeks and well be 
at it,’^ he chuckled. 

“Chowder!’’ cried Wally, “and won’t we make 
som^ of those other teams sick !” 

“Grover Cleveland Alexander,” Buddy read 
aloud. “I bet he can pitch some.” 

I 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


Poole and Wally looked at each other and 
groaned. 

‘Toor youth/* said Wally. 

*'He has pitchers on the brain/* said Poole. 

‘‘I bet he talks about pitchers in his sleep/* Wally 
added. 

Buddy turned away from the bed. ‘T know/* he 
grinned. ‘T guess Fm a pest. But where am I 
going to get a pitcher to help Arthur Stone? 
Where’s that schedule?” 

Wally found it under the newspaper. 

“Eighteen games/’ said Buddy. “Ten teams. 
And a pennant for the school that comes out on 
top. Think of that!” 

“What else have we been thinking of?” Wally 
asked indignantly. 

“A real league/* Buddy went on. “Everything 
just the way they have it in a real league, too — um- 
pires with authority to forfeit games and expel 
players, official scorers, official averages issued 
by league headquarters. Good night, isn’t it 
great ?” 

Poole and Wally had caught his enthusiasm. 

“No more unimportant games,” said the presi- 
dent of the A. A. “Every game counts because 
every team in the league is our rival.” 

“No more looking upon Irontown as the big 
thing,” said Wally. “A win from Irontown doesn’t 
get us any more than a win from Hasbrouck.” 

2 


THE BOY FROM IRONTOWN 


‘‘And if little Fairview can walk away with that 
pennant ’’ Poole began. 

“Wake up!” said Buddy. “Little Fairview has 
one pitcher.” 

Poole sighed and walked to the window. But 
Wally’s enthusiasm was in too healthy a condition 
to be choked. 

“You can’t always tell about pitching,” he said. 
“For four years McGraw kept Schupp of the 
Giants wearing the paint off the bench. Then 
look what happened last year. Look what Schupp 
did.” 

Poole turned from the window. “What’s the 
matter?” he asked. “Is Schupp’s brother coming to 
Fairview ?” 

Wally gave a snort of disgust. “You’re funny^ 
aren’t you? No, Schupp’s brother isn’t coming to 
Fairview. I don’t know if he has a brother. I 
mean that you can’t always tell about pitchers. 
Maybe if we gave Ahrens a chance ” 

“He’s off again,” said Poole. 

“Am I?” Wally demanded. “How about it. 
Buddy?” 

The captain shook his head. “Last year,” he 
said patiently, “Ahrens had about two cents’ worth 
of control. This year he’ll have less.” 

Wally bristled. “Why?” 

“Remember that crack on the wrist he got last 
month playing hockey?” 

3 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


Wally’s shoulders drooped. 'T forgot 
about that.” 

“You wouldn’t if you were captain,” said Buddy, 
and Poole nodded his head. 

Wally sat on the bed and stared at the newspaper. 
Presently he said without looking up from the 
page: 

“Carrots O’Toole will coach us, won’t he?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, he’s a pitcher. If he took Ahrens ” 

Buddy and Poole sprang toward the bed. Wally 
found himself tumbled on his back and pounded 
with pillows until he begged for mercy and prom- 
ised to be good. Then Buddy and Poole drew back, 
and Wally emerged from the wreck and pulled 
himself together. There was a button gone from 
Buddy’s coat and Poole’s tie was around under his 
ear. The scorer grinned. 

“Gave you a battle, didn’t I ?” 

They acknowledged that he had. 

“And the odds were two to one against me. Well, 
that’s how Fairview will fight when she goes after 
the pennant.” 

He walked to the window. Presently Buddy was 
on one side of him and Poole was on the other, and 
the captain’s hand rested on his shoulder. They 
understood each other, these three. 

In the distance, through the bare trees, they saw 
the top of the high school flagstaff. 

4 


THE BOY FROM IRONTOWN 


‘The smallest school in the league/’ Wally said. 
‘Tf we could win that pennant ” 

“Find me another pitcher,” said Buddy, “and the 
smallest school will make them all sit up.” 

A few minutes later his friends departed, and 
Buddy started work upon his afternoon chores. 
While he sifted ashes in back of the grape arbor 
his thoughts were all of baseball. Suddenly he 
stopped and a far-away look came into his eyes. 

“County champions !” he said. Then he laughed, 
and shook his head, and went on with his work. 
But the picture he had created would not down. 

At 7 o’clock Bob Jones came home from the 
Fairview Iron Works. He was assistant foreman 
now. He had begun to climb the ladder of success. 
But to Buddy he was the same big brother he had 
always been. 

During supper Bob told of that day’s doings at 
the works. Mr. Arch, the new superintendent, had 
at last come over from Irontown to take charge. 
He was boarding at the Fairview Hotel. 

That wild picture of county champions was still 
in Buddy’s mind. He paid very little attention to 
what Bob said. But all at once he became aware 
that Bob was saying something about a boy. Buddy 
picked up his ears. 

“What boy was that. Bob?” 

“Mr. Arch’s son. He was at the works with him 
today.” 


5 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


Buddy sat up straight. big fellow, Bob?’* 
‘‘Well, about seventeen.** 

“Does he work ? Does he go to school ? Did he 
say anything about school ?** 

“A little,” Bob said dryly. “Mr. Arch said he 
was going to enter our high school and Schuyler 
said — well, a little.** 

Buddy did not notice the pause before those last 
words. “Schuyler,** he said. “Is that his name. 
Bob ? Schuyler Arch ?** 

“Yes. What are you so anxious about?** 

“We need a pitcher,” Buddy answered. “We 

have only Arthur Stone. Does this fellow look 

You know, does he look like a soft Molly?** 

“He does not,** said Bob. “He looks trim and 
hard.** The man’s face became thoughtful. “So 
you hope he may be able to pitch ball for Fairview. 
Is that it ?** 

Buddy nodded and looked hopefully at his 
brother. 

“Well ** Bob looked down at his coffee cup. 

“Good luck, kid,” he said. 

Buddy was too excited to see any significance 
in what his brother had said. A new boy was com- 
ing to Fairview, a fellow who was trim and hard, 
a fellow who might be a pitcher. Mackerel, 
wouldn’t it be great if he was? 

Next morning, when Buddy came to school, he 
was handed a letter that had come addressed to the 

t 



“County champions!" he said. 





THE BOY FROM IRONTOWN 


A. A. The communication was from Drake, cap- 
tain of the Irontown nine, and called attention to 
the fact that Fairview had not yet named the um- 
pire who would judge balls and strikes when she 
played at home and who would make base decisions 
when she traveled. 

‘WhaFs his hurry?” Buddy demanded. ‘There’s 
lots of time.” 

“Read the next page,” said Poole. 

Buddy turned to the next page, saw a name, and 
almost jumped. He read rapidly: 

“By the way, one of our freshmen, a fellow named 
Schuyler Arch, is leaving here because his father’s busi- 
ness has been shifted to Fairview. He’s going to enter 
your school. We had him figured as a pretty good pitcher 
and hoped he’d win a lot of games; but now, of course, 
we hope he gets the tar licked out of him.” 

Drake’s little touch of humor was lost on Buddy. 
He started to read the letter a second time. Then a 
hand reached over his shoulder and clutched it. 

“A pitcher,” Wally yelled. “How about that 
pennant now?” 

“Drake says he’s only a kid pitcher,” Poole 
warned. 

“Drake! Huh!” Wally turned up his nose. 
“Drake’s sore because Irontown’s losing him. Any- 
way, when we need a pitcher so badly and a pitcher 
comes, that means something, doesn’t it?” 

7 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


‘‘Let’s wait until we look him over,” said Poole. 

But Wally’s bubbling optimism could not be killed 
with mere words. He refused to let anyone pull a 
gray cloud over his patch of blue sky. All Fair- 
view needed was a pitcher. Now she had him. 
Wasn’t that enough for anybody but an old sour 
belly? 

Poole grinned. “Meaning me ?” 

“Sure,” said Wally; “who else? I wonder if we . 
could get through the season without losing a 
game.” 

Buddy went in to classes thrilling to Wally’s 
buoyancy. True, Poole was probably right — it 
might be well to wait and see. If anybody asked 
him about the new boy he would take Poole’s course 
— wait and see. But down in his own heart his 
hopes ran almost as high as Wally’s. He built his 
castles in the air and dreamed his golden dreams. 
County champions! 

At noon he found the students awaiting him out- 
side the school. Wally had blithely spread the in- 
formation that a second Christy Mathewson was 
coming to Fairview. The students were clamorous 
for news. Had this fellow Arch been a sensation 
at Irontown? Was Irontown down in the dumps 
because he had left? 

Reckless confidence of this kind was bad, and 
Buddy knew it. It was all right for him to dream. 
In fact, he rather liked to paint the might be. But 
8 


THE BOY FROM IRONTOWN 


to have the school chasing a will-o’-the-wisp was 
another matter. Where the school was concerned 
Poole’s idea was right — wait and see. 

Buddy tried to stop the clamor. He said that 
Schuyler Arch was coming to Fairview and that he 
was a pitcher, and that that was as much as any- 
body knew. 

‘‘You’re stringing us,” a voice said accusingly. 

“I’m not,” Buddy answered. 

A moment of silence. 

“Wasn’t he a sensation at Irontown?” another 
voice demanded. 

“Isn’t Irontown all broken up because he came 
here?” 

Buddy shook his head. “We don’t know anything 
about him, fellows. That’s flat.” 

“How about Wally saying he’s a wonder?” 

Buddy tried to laugh it ofif. He said that every- 
body knew that Wally said more than his prayers. 
But for all that the boys cried, “All right. Buddy,” 
and winked at each other as they broke up. 

Buddy knew that the damage had been done. He 
could almost hear the students telling each other 
that Wally was the captain’s friend and that Wally 
ought to know something. 

“Oh!” he groaned under his breath. “Just for 
about five minutes with that big-mouth.” 

He did not see Wally until it was time to go back 
to school. The score-keeper, swinging his arms 
9 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


recklessly, was striding along as though he owned 
the road. Buddy hurried and overtook him. 

‘‘What have you been telling the fellows ?’’ he de- 
manded. 

Wally grinned. “Hello, Bud ! I guess I made a 
good job of it. Stirred them up some, didn’t I?” 

“You surely did,” Buddy agreed. “They think 
he’s a world-beater, and if he can’t pitch knuckle 
balls and up-shoots they’ll think he’s a lemon.” 

The grin faded from Wally’s face. 

“And then,” said Buddy, “when he finds we think 
he’s great, he’ll worry himself sick trying to be 
great, and he won’t be able to pitch a lick.” 

Wally’s face lengthened. 

“Isn’t there any other stirring news you could 
have given them ?” Buddy asked sarcastically. 

“Gee!” Wally sighed. “And I thought I was 
doing something great.” 

His round, fat face was so completely woe-be- 
gone that presently Buddy’s anger began to slip. 
All at once the captain laughed. At that Wally’s 
spirits picked up wonderfully. He promised he’d go 
around and tell the fellows that he had discovered 
that the new pitcher had a weak arm, and was sub- 
ject to headaches, and had a lame back. 

Buddy clutched his arm. “You’ll tell them 
ZJuhatf" 

“I — I guess I’ll tell them nothing,” said Wally, 
and grinned feebly. 

lo 


THE BOY FROM IRONTOWN 


The students amused themselves before the bell 
rang by marching back and forth across the school 
lawn. Some genius had dashed off what he was 
pleased to call a song, and now the students chanted 
it as they marched : 

We’ll get the county pennant and we’ll get it good and 
tight, 

We’ll get it without sweating, it won’t even be a fight, 
Irontown may win it — oh, yes, she may — she might. 

If we all get the pip. 

At any other time the spirit and dash of the stu- 
dents would have set Buddy’s heart to beating faster. 
Now, however, he felt no thrill. The fight for the 
county pennant was not a matter of hurrah and 
hurray. It was a campaign that stretched through 
nine long weeks. It was something to be planned, 
and re-planned, and planned again. It called for 
calmness, and caution, and courage. And here was 
the school throwing up its hat and going off on a 
jamboree of folly. 

If Schuyler Arch had come to school and had 
shown rare form. Buddy would have expected an 
outburst of confidence. But not a Fairview boy 
had ever seen Schuyler. Not a Fairview boy knew 
what he could do. And yet the school had made up 
its mind that his coming meant glory. It wasn’t 
counting chickens before they were hatched ; it was 
counting chickens before they even had the eggs 
from which they were to be hatched. 

II 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


‘Tleasant little picture,” said Poole’s voice. 

Buddy nodded soberly, but did not look around. 

^‘As a starter of things,” Poole went on, “Wally 
is some little starter.” 

This time Buddy did not even bother to nod. 
“He thought he was doing a wonderful thing,” he 
said. 

“That’s like Wally,” said Poole. 

For a few minutes they continued to watch. 

“Some of the ball players are in it,” said Poole. 
“They ought to have more sense.” 

Buddy thought so too. If the nine got cocky 
and bumptious, he was in for it sure. He turned 
away and walked toward the school entrance. Poole 
fell into step with him. 

“If this is going on when Arch arrives,” said the 
president of the A. A., “you’ll have your hands full 
— particularly if he’s a chap who likes himself.” 

Buddy stopped short. “You mean he’ll get 
chesty ?” 

Poole nodded. 

“Maybe he won’t come for a week or more,” 
Buddy said hopefully. 

But that night, at the supper table, he learned that 
he could expect Schuyler any day. Bob said that 
Mr. Arch had leased the old Henderson house on 
Orchard road. 

“When are they going to move in ?” Buddy asked. 

“Tomorrow.” Bob looked at him a moment. 


12 


THE BOY FROM IRONTOWN 


''Still thinking of this fellow as a pitcher, Buddy?” 

"He can pitch,” said the boy. "We had a letter 
,from Irontown.” 

"And you’re figuring on him now more than 
ever ?” 

"N — no,” said Buddy* He thought of that day’s 
demonstration in front of the school. "That is,” 
he added, "not as much as I was. I’ll wait and see 
how things go.” 

Bob’s lips twitched. "Wise boy,” he said. 

This time Buddy had caught a vague something 
in Bob’s voice. What did his brother mean — or did 
he mean anything? 

Next day the school was still stewing. When 
classes were dismissed for the day Buddy trudged 
off to Orchard road. A moving van stood in front 
of the Henderson house. The captain turned away 
and walked home thoughtfully. What would the 
morrow bring ? 

He was up early next morning. Long before his 
usual time he left the house. But instead of going 
directly to school, he went around to where Poole 
lived. He whistled outside the house until the 
president of the A. A. opened the front door. 

"Hello!” said Poole. "Aren’t you early this 
morning? What’s up?” 

"I think Schuyler will be at school today,” Buddy 
said. 

Poole called to wait until he got his hat and coat. 

13 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


A few minutes later he came out with his books 
under his arm. They started for school. Buddy 
told about the moving van. 

“If he could have waited a few days ” Poole 

began. “Oh, welV he broke off suddenly, “there’s 
no use in worrying. He may not come today.” 

But when they came in front of the school, a 
strange boy was pacing back and forth. Early as 
it was, some of the students had already appeared. 
They were grouped on the school steps and were 
talking excitedly. The new boy paid no attention 
to them, but walked back and forth as though an- 
noyed. 

“Something,” said Poole, “seems to be on his 
mind.” 

Buddy’s eyes took in every line of the stranger. 
Here was the boy on whom so much depended! 
The captain noted with approval his slim, straight 
body and the wide sweep of his shoulders. Shoul- 
ders like that seemed made just to put speed into a 
baseball. 

“Going to speak to him ?” Poole asked. 

Buddy nodded and strode forward. “I imagine,” 
he said, “that you are Schuyler Arch.” 

The other boy’s eyes brightened. “Yes; that’s 
my name.” 

“Mine is Jones.” Buddy held out his hand. “I’m 
’captain of the nine. Let me make you welcome to 
Fairview.” 


THE BOY FROM IRONTOWN 


Schuyler shook hands. The sudden brightness 
that had come to his eyes at mention of his name 
disappeared. His grip was rather limp. 

Buddy called Poole and introduced him. Then 
the curious students crowded forward to see the 
boy who was to help Fairview win a pennant. 
Buddy introduced them one by one. Somehow, 
Schuyler’s voice seemed flat and dead as he re- 
sponded to the greetings. 

‘'Suppose I take you around and show you the 
place,” Buddy proposed. 

“There isn’t much to see, is there?” Schuyler 
asked. 

“Well, we can look at what there is,” Buddy 
smiled. He did not notice Poole’s frown. 

He led the way into the school and through the 
classrooms. Presently they came outdoors again. 

“Is that all?” Schuyler asked curiously. 

Buddy nodded. “That’s all.” 

“Where’s your gym?” 

“We have none.” 

A shadow crossed Schuyler’s face. 

“We have a pretty good type of school spirit,” 
said Poole. 

“Have you?” said Schuyler, and lifted his 
eyes. 

Buddy led the way across the lawn out as far 
as the road. By this time the students had begun 
to grow excited. Buddy hoped that Schuyler would 

15 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


not notice the high tension. He talked rapidly, 
trying hard to hold the new boy’s attention. 

But Schuyler paid little heed. He stared for a 
full minute at the weather-beaten, two-storied high 
school building. 

“You’re coming out for the nine, aren’t you?” 
Buddy asked. 

“I suppose so.” Schuyler was still staring at the 
building. 

Buddy had a sudden feeling that something was 
wrong. He glanced at Poole. Then he heard 
Schuyler’s voice. 

“My eye,” said Schuyler, “but this is one cheap 
little school, isn’t it?” 


CHAPTER II 


SCHUYLER IS JOLTED 

H ad a bomb been exploded out there on the 
school grounds, Buddy could not have been 
more surprised. He swung around and 
looked at Schuyler as though refusing to believe his 
ears. But the expression on SchuylePs face left 
little room for doubt. Schuyler’s face was a flat 
picture of disgust. 

‘T wouldn’t say it was a cheap school,” Poole 
said quietly. ‘Tt is small.” 

‘‘Small?” Schuyler laughed. “Why, you could 
put this in one comer of Irontown and not know 
it was there.” 

“Irontown.” Poole wrinkled his forehead. “Oh, 
yes ; that’s a school a few miles from here.” 

Schuyler glared. Just then the school bell rang. 
Schuyler said stiffly that he had a letter for Dr. 
Minor, the principal, and stalked toward the en- 
trance. 

“I wonder,” Poole mused aloud, “if he will tell 
the fellows what he told us.” 

Buddy did not reply. What was the use? What 
could he say ? 


17 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


He never knew what happened in assembly that 
morning. His brain was in a whirl. Slowly, as 
his amazement passed, one thing became clear. De- 
spite the way he had ridiculed the hair-brained 
cocksureness of the school, he, too, had counted 
heavily on Schuyler’s coming. He knew it now be- 
cause of the sharp disappointment that stabbed, and 
stabbed, and stabbed. 

Not that he had made up his mind that Schuyler 
was a false alarm. Oh, no; nothing like that. He 
had been too powerfully impressed by those shoul- 
ders. But he did not see how a boy could pitch good 
ball for a school he did not like. 

Assembly was dismissed. Out in the corridors, 
as the students hurried to classrooms. Buddy could 
hear some of them singing softly: 

We’ll get the county pennant and we’ll get it good and 
tight. 

We’ll get it without sweating, it won’t even be a fight 

‘Wait!” said Buddy to himself. “Wait until 
Schuyler begins to talk.” 

He kept his mind on his lessons that morning — as 
much as he could, anyway. But slowly a mixture 
of resentment and anger was beginning to run 
through his blood. What right had any boy to come 
to Fairview and mock it? If he didn’t like the 
school, why didn’t he stay away? Who did he think 
he was, anyway? 


i8 


SCHUYLER IS JOLTED 


There was a time, Buddy knew, when any Tom, 
Dick or Harry could have turned up his nose. There 
was a time when Fairview’s tarnished name had 
been a by-word among the other schools. But all 
that was past. The Fairview of today was as clean 
as any school in the county. 

Fairview had struggled free of its past only after 
a fight. Buddy knew about that fight because he 
had led if. Aided by Poole he had warred on 
ringers, and ringers had been driven out. Under- 
hand methods had given place to clean play. The 
first school song had been written. School spirit 
had come. 

It had not been easy to arouse the students. 
There had been days when it looked as though fair 
play and clean sport were doomed. But Buddy had 
stuck grimly to his guns. In the stress and storm 
of the battle a passionate love for Fairview had 
been born in his heart. And now, when the fight 
was over, when honor had come, to have a stranger 

stroll in and sneer Buddy’s clenched hand 

struck the top of his desk. 

“Jones !” the teacher said sharply. 

Buddy flushed and bent low over his algebra. 

Around the room boys grinned and winked at 
each other. They were quite sure what that blow 
meant. Buddy had been picturing one of Schuyler’s 
fast balls smacking into his mitt. 

At noon, when classes were dismissed, Buddy 

19 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


waited for Poole; and while he waited, Schuyler 
came out of the building. 

^‘Hello the new boy said carelessly. 

‘‘Hello!”. said Buddy. 

Schuyler buttoned his overcoat. “Not many stu- 
dents here,” he observed. 

“Not many.” 

“That’s the worst of these small schools,” Schuy- 
ler said with a superior air. “You’re the captain; 
you know how it is. Shy on students, shy on ath- 
letes, shy on everything. If you need a third-base- 
man you have to manufacture one out of an out- 
fielder. If you need a catcher Who is the 

catcher here?” 

“I am,” said Buddy. 

Schuyler’s cheeks went red. Soon he strolled 
away. As he turned up the road he whistled shrilly, 
and the tune that he whistled was “Men of Iron,” 
the Irontown school song. 

A moment later Poole came out. The president 
of the A. A. knew that whistled air. He looked 
at Buddy, and looked after Schuyler’s retreating 
footsteps, and shook his head. 

A flock of students gathered around the captain. 
What did he think of Schuyler? Didn’t Schuyler 
look as though he could pitch? How about those 
shoulders? Buddy forced a smile, and parried the 
questions, and wormed his way through the crowd. 

“Going to take him down to the handball prac- 
20 


SCHUYLER IS JOLTED 


tice?’’ Poole asked as they walked off together. 

Buddy nodded. He knew why Poole had asked 
the question. At Fairview there was no chance for 
indoor baseball practice. In an effort to get into 
condition before outdoor work started, the candi- 
dates had taken to handball. For a week now they 
had been playing the game — but instead of playing 
on a court, they played in the cellar of the school. 
Buddy was sure that Schuyler would laugh when he 
saw the place. 

But if this pleasant chap from Irontown was go- 
ing to jeer, he might as well jeer first as last. When 
afternoon recitations were over, Buddy went in 
search of him. 

^'Handball?” Schuyler asked eagerly. ‘^Sure. 
That^s my middle name.^’ 

But when Buddy led him down to the cellar, a 
bored smile crossed his face. 

The cellar was high-ceilinged enough, and there 
was plenty of light. Right there, though, the good 
side of the picture ended, for the school furnace 
with its ash cans and coal bins was at one end, and 
the janitor’s mops and brooms were at the other. 

‘^My eye,” Schuyler chuckled. “Handball in a 
furnace room. That’s a new one on me. I must 
write back and let some of the fellows at Irontown 
know.” 

Buddy flushed. His lips trembled to tell Schuyler 
a thing or two, but he controlled himself. First of 
21 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


all he was captain of the nine. He did not know 
what the future might hold. As long as there was 
a chance, even a slim chance, of Schuyler being of 
help, all else would have to be forgotten. 

‘This is an old building,’' he explained, trying to 
keep his voice steady. “When it was built, athletics 
weren’t figured on. You know how all the old 
schools are.” 

“Oh, yes.” Schuyler yawned and said he had 
better go home and study. 

Buddy watched him climb the stairs. “I’ll bet,” 
the captain thought bitterly, “he’s telling himself it’s 
a joke.” 

But Buddy was wrong. Schuyler was telling him- 
self that it was a tragedy. 

Buddy turned to the handball practice. Schuyler, 
Schuyler, Schuyler! That was all the candidates 
seemed able to talk about. Not one of them ap- 
peared to remember that Arthur Stone, the depend- 
able, was still with the nine. Buddy glanced hur- 
riedly toward the pitcher. Was Arthur taking of- 
fense? No; Arthur, quietly bouncing a tennis ball 
against the brick wall, smiled without a trace of 
rancor. 

“Gee !” Buddy thought with a lump in his throat. 
“If Schuyler was like that ” 

But Schuyler wasn’t, and that was all there was 
to it. 

TJiat night, when Buddy came to the supper table, 
22 


SCHUYLER IS JOLTED 


he knew that Bob was watching him. Later, when 
he started upstairs to study, Bob followed him out 
to the hall. 

‘‘Did your pitcher show up?’’ 

Buddy nodded. 

“Well?” 

“It isn't well, Bob ; it’s all wrong.” 

“I could have told you,” Bob said slowly, “but I 
did not want to throw cold water. That day at the 
works he roasted Fairview to a turn. He said ” 

“I know.” Buddy tried to smile. “We’ve heard 
some of it already.” 

Bob put a hand on his shoulder. “What arc you 
going to do?” 

“Fight,” the boy answered. “I’m going to try 
to make him see that Fairview is just as good a 
school as Irontown. I’m going to try to make him 
pitch for us the way Arthur Stone will pitch. If 
he gets the fellows down on him by his talking, I’ll 
try to straighten things out some way and make 
him pitch for us, anyway.” 

“And if all that fails?” Bob asked. 

“Then,” Buddy said simply, “we’ll go on fighting 
with Arthur Stone alone.” 

Bob’s hand gripped his shoulder. 

He went up to his room to study, but for a long 
time his books lay neglected in his lap. Looking 
ahead, all he could see was a succession of obstacles 
that had to be mounted. The first of these would 

23 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


be handball. As a member of the nine Schuyler 
would be expected to play. Buddy knew already 
what Schuyler thought of Fairview^s handball ar- 
rangements, and he had a strong idea that Schuyler 
would blandly refuse to take part. 

He was captain, with a captain’s authority and 
all Fairview behind him. Yet here was a boy whom 
it might be policy to humor — up to a certain point. 
After that 

“We’ll see,” said Buddy. Of all the different 
kinds of boys there were in the world, why had 
Fate sent him a boy like Schuyler? 

In the morning, as he walked to school, Wally 
Hamilton met him. 

“What’s the matter with this fellow Schuyler?” 
the scorer asked excitedly. “He’s knocking the 
school to everybody.” 

“Is he?” It was all old news to the captain. 

“Chowder, yes! He says that we’re old fogies 
and a thousand years behind the times. Some- 
body’s been telling him how badly we need a 
pitcher ” 

“Oh 1” Buddy was vitally interested now. 
“What did he say to that?” 

“He didn’t say anything. He just grinned and 
stuck out his chest. And somebody said it was a 
lucky day when he came, and he winked.” 

A lucky day for Fairview? Buddy could have 
laughed. 


24 


SCHUYLER IS JOLTED 


‘‘You’re not going to put up with this, are you?” 
Wally demanded. 

Buddy thought a moment “There’s a lot of 
things you put up with,” he said, “when you’re 
captain.” 

“Well,” Wally threatened, “I’m not captain and 
I’m going to ” 

“Are you?” Buddy asked. 

Wally looked at him a moment and then looked 
away. “All right. Bud,” he said at last ; “I’ll keep 
my oar out.” 

Buddy walked toward the school. There were 
two counts now in the indictment against Schuyler. 
First, he didn’t like the school; second, he liked 
himself. And Fairview fellows were singing that 
Fairview would win the flag without sweating. 

When school was over for the afternoon Buddy 
went looking for the new boy. He found him stroll- 
ing away with a group of his new classmates. 
Buddy stood on the school steps and made a trumpet 
of his hands. 

“O Schuyler!” 

Schuyler paused and looked back. “Yes?” 

Buddy motioned to him to return. 

Schuyler took his own sweet time about coming. 
For several minutes he continued to speak to those 
with him ; then, rather indifferently, he strolled back. 

“Want me, Jones?” 

“Yes.” Only the red in Buddy’s cheeks showed 

25 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


that the other boy’s tactics had struck home. ‘'You 
are coming out for the nine, aren’t you ?” 

"Am I?” Schuyler stared. "My eye, you fel- 
lows need me badly enough, I guess.” 

"We do,” Buddy answered steadily, "provided 
you can pitch.” 

Schuyler’s slow smile was very, very significant. 

"We like to have our fellows in pretty good 
shape,” Buddy went on, ignoring the smile. "That’s 
why we play handball. So, if you’re coming out 
for the nine ” 

"Oh, now,” Schuyler protested ; "I don’t need any 
of that. I have an exerciser at home. I swing the 
clubs and take a cold splash every morning.” 

"I take care of myself, too,” Buddy pointed out, 
"and I play handball.” 

"Oh, well, you’re the captain. At Irontown, 
Drake is the same way. A captain has to set a good 
example for the others.” 

"Every fellow has to set a good example, Schuy- 
ler. No shirking — everybody on scratch.” 

Schuyler frowned. He was annoyed. At Iron- 
town these before-season preparations were all right. 
Irontown had the facilities. But here, in this little 
two-by-twice school, things were different. Be- 
sides, they needed him badly. They weren’t going 
to make him do things he didn’t want to do. They 
had to be nice. 

"You tell the fellows how it is, Jones,” he said; 

26 


SCHUYLER IS JOLTED 


‘‘about my home exercises and all that. They’ll 
understand.” 

“I’m afraid they won’t. If I excuse you I’ll have 
to excuse others. We don’t play favorites.” 

“Oh, go on and tell them. They’ll understand.” 

Buddy’s pulse quickened. Here, right at the start, 
was a place where he had to show iron. If he gave 
into Schuyler now, Schuyler would ever after hold 
himself above discipline. If he insisted, Schuyler 
might walk off and make a mock of his authority. 
If that happened, what then? It was a situation 
alive with the possibilities of disaster, but it had to 
be met. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “If a fellow wants to make 
the nine he must do what’s expected of him. That’s 
the law here.” 

Something in the captain’s voice made Schuyler 
narrow his eyes. “And if he doesn’t do what’s 
expected of him ?” he asked slowly. 

“He doesn’t make the nine,” said Buddy. 

It was out. The die had been cast. 

Schuyler swung around and took a step away 
from the school. Then, for some reason, he paused. 
He looked up at Buddy, looked a moment longer — 
and then dropped his eyes. 

“Why, all right,” he said. “I’ll do it as a favor 
to you, Jones.” 

Buddy knew that it wasn’t a favor to him at all. 
But he had won. That was what counted. He 
27 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


wasn't going to split hairs about the terms of the 
surrender. 

They went down to the cellar. Nails had been 
driven into overhead beams. Before hanging his 
belongings, Schuyler ran his handkerchief over the 
place where his overcoat would rest. He seemed 
to be very angry about something. 

‘That’s ash dust from the furnace,” said Mc- 
Carter, the shortstop. ‘Tt brushes off.” 

‘‘Oh!” Schuyler’s tone was sharp. “I didn’t 
know. We weren’t troubled with ash dust at Iron- 
town.” 

A little of that, Buddy thought, would go a long 
way. He watched the candidates to see how they 
took it. Hill, the third-baseman, grinned good- 
naturedly. 

“Wait until you’re here a while,” he said. “You’ll 
go home feeling that you ought to be sifted.” 

Buddy felt a flash of relief. If the squad refused 
to take Schuyler seriously that was something to be 
thankful for. It meant that Schuyler and the nine 
would not be at loggerheads. And perhaps, as the 
days passed, this attitude of the fellows would grad- 
ually curb the pitcher’s tongue. Criticizing and 
finding fault are rather poor jobs when nobody 
pays attention. 

The work had stopped when Schuyler appeared. 
Now it started again. Boys who had had enough 
donned their coats and retired to the stairs where 
28 


SCHUYLER IS JOLTED 


they would be out of the way. Buddy split the 
others into two teams. The ball was hit against the 
wall. The game was on. 

Long before Schuyler’s side had scored its twen- 
ty-first point and won the game, the watchers knew 
that Arthur Stone was no longer the handball star 
of Fairview. Schuyler seemed able to make his 
returns from either the right side or the left. His 
drives were powerful, and he had a beautiful knack 
of making the ball connect an inch or so above the 
floor. 

As soon as the game was over there was a rush 
from the stairs. Boys surrounded Schuyler and 
congratulated him on his playing. Arthur Stone 
mopped his face and smiled. 

‘‘You surely are a hard man to get them past,” 
he said. 

“Oh, I learned my game under proper conditions,” 
said Schuyler. “Did any of you ever see the hand- 
ball court at Irontown ?” 

The candidates shook their heads. 

“My eye, but that is a court. I’ll bring around 
a photograph and show you.” 

Buddy bit his lips. 

“I’ll bet ours has more ash barrels,” said Ahrens, 
the substitute. 

There was a laugh. 

Schuyler flushed angrily. Before he could say 
anything, somebody raised a cry for a match be- 
29 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


tween him and Arthur Stone. Arthur shook his 
head. 

“I haven’t a chance, fellows.” 

‘‘I’m willing,” Schuyler said quickly. The good- 
natured banter had stung him. It wasn’t showing 
the proper respect for the things of which he had 
spoken. He wanted a chance to show what Iron- 
town handball was. He wanted to rub it in. 

But Arthur hung back. He was willing to admit 
that the new boy was the better player. 

“Oh, come on,” said Schuyler. “I’ll go easy.” 

Slowly Arthur took off his coat. “There’s no 
need of that,” he said coolly. 

Schuyler went into that game with a smile on his 
lips. The smile stayed there only through an effort 
of his will. He was master, yes; but by no such 
margin as he had planned. He didn’t rub anything 
in. He played with all his skill and strength and 
speed, and he played that way because he had to 
to win. 

Things had not gone at all right that afternoon 
and this was the last straw. He had come down to 
the cellar when he did not want to come. Why he 
had come he did not know. His talk of Irontown 
had been brushed’ aside. And now this boy who 
would be his pitching rival was making him extend 
himself to the limit. 

Presently the game was over. He tried hard not 
to show that he had been hard pressed. 

30 


SCHUYLER IS JOLTED 


“Pretty good/' he said, “for a fellow who never 
played on a real court.” 

“I knew I didn't have a chance,” Arthur said. 

Schuyler looked at him queerly, appraisingly. In 
a few minutes, when he had cooled, he put on his 
coat and vest and then his overcoat. Something 
seemed to be on his mind. He walked upstairs to 
the main corridor and then outdoors. He paused 
and ran a thoughtful hand across his chin. 

Buddy came from the building. “Three-fifteen 
tomorrow, Schuyler.” 

Schuyler nodded absently. “That was a funny 
game,” he said. 

Buddy halted. “Funny? How?” 

“Oh, every way. Stone knew he didn't have a 
chance — he said so himself. Yet he played his 
head off.” 

“What's funny about that?” 

“Why, what's the use of playing so hard when 
you haven't a chance? I told him I’d go easy. 
What was he trying to do, catch me napping ?” 

“Oh, no,” said Buddy. “Nothing like that. 
That's not Art’s style. He just couldn't help play- 
ing hard.” 

“But when he thought the thing was hope- 
less ” 

“That wouldn't make any difference to Art.” 

“No? Why?'* 

“Because he's a Fairview fellow.” 

31 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


Schuyler looked incredulous. Was Jones trying 
to make sport of him? 

'‘What’s being a Fairview fellow got to do with 
it ?” he demanded. 

"Everything,” said Buddy. "The Fairview spirit 
fights to the last ditch regardless of the odds.” 

"Oh !” said Schuyler. He became lost in thought. 
When he looked up Buddy was gone. Slowly he 
walked toward home. 


CHAPTER III 


SOWING THE SEED 

A t Irontown Schuyler Arch had been an aver- 
age high school boy, doing his classroom 
work willingly, enjoying his sports hugely. 
But coming to Fairview had robbed him of his sense 
of proportion. He felt superior to his new school. 
He felt that the code that had bound him at Iron- 
town did not bind him here. 

At Irontown he would never have dreamed of 
trying to dodge the work that team candidates did. 
He would never have dreamed of playing fast and 
loose with a captain’s desires. Unfortunately, 
though, a score of babbling students had told him 
how important he was to Fairview’s baseball hopes. 
’ For the first time in his life his hat began to seem 
too small for his head. 

He had made up his mind as soon as he saw the 
cellar that handball was not for him. He, who had 
been used to better things, play handball among ash 
cans? Nothing doing! He had had a private opin- 
ion that nobody would force him to play if he let 
it be known how he felt about the matter. Wasn’t 
he the pitcher the school had sighed for? 

33 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


Yet, he had played. What was more, he had 
been told to play tomorrow. And tomorrow, he 
knew, he would play again. 

“It wasn’t because Buddy threatened me,” he told 
himself stoutly. At Irontown the baseball captain’s 
slightest wish would have been his law. But he 
could not see how a captain in a little frame school 
could be classed with an Irontown captain. There 
had to be a difference. No Fairview captain could 
make him. 

Yet, he had played. He could not understand it. 
It was a mystery — almost as big a mystery as the 
game of handball that had been played by Arthur 
Stone. 

Buddy had said it was Fairview spirit. Schuyler 
couldn’t sec that. School spirit, he thought, had to 
have something to feed on — gym, locker-room, 
shower baths. Where could Fairview get such a 
spirit ? 

“My eye!” he said aloud. “It’s hot air, every 
bit of it. It’s a dinky little school. It has nothing. 

And as for winning that pennant ” He smiled 

broadly. Of course, he’d pitch his best whenever 
he was sent to the mound, but he did not think that 
Fairview had a chance. 

His thoughts would have given Buddy Jones 
something of a shock. But Buddy did not know. 

Next afternoon Schuyler brought to school a 
picture of the Irontown handball court. When the 
34 


SOWING THE SEED 


baseball squad came down to the cellar he showed it. 

The majority of the candidates took an indiffer- 
ent look. Buddy, watching, suddenly felt uneasy. 
Suppose the players became dissatisfied with their 
lot? He saw Pilgrim and Yost and McCarter stare 
at the photograph a long time — and then glance 
about the cellar as though making comparisons. 

“Some difference, eh?’^ Schuyler asked. 

Pilgrim nodded. 

“And yet,'’ said Neale, the second-baseman, “we 
manage to give a good account of ourselves — even 
in handball.” 

Schuyler was furious. This thing of making lit- 
tle of his ideas filled him with anger. He put the 
picture away, and on second thought took it from 
his pocket. While the players were throwing off 
coats and vests and collars he found nails and a 
hammer, and fastened the photograph to a joist. 

“What's that for?” Buddy asked at his elbow. 

“They have views of the different schools tacked 
up in the Irontown gym,” Schuyler said easily. “I 
thought I'd start something like that here.” 

“Oh !” Buddy contemplated the picture. 

“Shall I take it down?” Schuyler asked. 

Buddy shook his head. He thought he saw a 
fleeting smile cross Schuyler's face. 

All through the practice Buddy was filled with a 
sense of trouble. Somehow, that picture seemed to 
breathe a threat. When the work was over he 
35 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


dressed and started for home. Upstairs, in the 
main corridor, he felt for his pencils. They were 
gone. He went back to the cellar and found Pil- 
grim and Yost standing in front of the picture. 

The pencils were on the floor. After Pilgrim 
and Yost were gone Buddy walked over to the joist 
resolved to tear the picture down. He knew now 
that it was a real threat, a constant reminder of the 
things that Fairview did not have. And yet, with 
his hand raised, he hesitated. Tomorrow it would 
be missed. There would be questions. Slowly he 
turned away and walked upstairs. 

His eyes had been opened to the danger. The 
school, at first taking Schuyler's words with smiles 
and shrugs, might gradually come to accept his 
ideas. The fellows might begin to itch for shower 
baths, lockers, and a field house. 

If that happened, discontent and grumbling were 
sure to follow. And if discontent came, good-by 
school spirit. Pride and faith and loyalty could not 
endure in dissatisfied minds. 

Buddy might build castles, but he did not close 
his eyes to hard facts. Though he had dreamed of 
a pennant, he knew the difficulties that lay ahead. 
Fairview was small. The nine was shy of substi- 
tutes. An injury to one good player might put it 
out of the running. But in spite of all that he had 
dreamed. 

He had based his hopes on school spirit — the same 

36 


SOWING THE SEED 


spirit that had struggled free of a tarnished past, 
the spirit that had driven out the ringers. He had 
expected it to get behind the team, to encourage the 
players to mighty deeds, to somehow make up for 
all the advantages that almost every other team in 
the league enjoyed. 

And now came something that threatened to 
worm its way into that glorious spirit of Fairview 
and eat out its vitals. 

As Buddy plodded home he met Poole and Wally. 
He told them what had happened that afternoon. 

‘The nerve of him,” Wally howled. “Tacking 
up Irontown pictures. Why didn’t you soak him in 
the eye?” 

No attention was paid to the question. 

“It’s all right for him to talk of big things,” 
Buddy said bitterly, “but why doesn’t he consider 
us? We can’t have big things. We’re a small 
school. All we have is our spirit.” 

“Perhaps he doesn’t believe we have that,” said 
Poole. 

Buddy swallowed hard. 

“We’d have been just as well off if this fellow 
had stayed away,” Wally blustered. “He’ll wreck 
things ” 

“No,” said Buddy. ‘^He can’t wreck Fairview. 
In the end ” 

“Chowder!” cried Wally. “I’m not thinking of 
ends. What about the pennant fight this year?” 

37 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


‘'Maybe that picture finishes him/' said Poole. 

Buddy had his doubts. In the past he had leaned 
on Poole’s judgment. Now he began to feel that 
he was years older than the president of the A. A. 

He was not surprised, as the days passed, to find 
Schuyler carrying himself j^ust a little more stiff- 
necked than before. When ash dust showed on his 
coat, he said that it was a queer school that couldn’t 
give its athletes lockers. When the players spoke 
hopefully of going outdoors and getting batting 
practice, he said that schools that expected to make 
a showing in a pennant fight ought to have indoor 
batting nets. Somebody asked what indoor batting 
nets were, and next day Schuyler brought another 
photograph and nailed it beside the first. 

“Gee!” said a voice as students gathered around 
it. “They can have batting practice all winter, can’t 
they?” 

“That’s what a school like this is up against,” said 
Schuyler. 

“The odds never make any difference to Fair- 
view,” said Neale. 

A smile flashed over Buddy’s face. Here was a 
worry that was passing. So far, not one of his 
players had shown any inclination to pay serious 
attention to Schuyler’s flouting — not even Pilgrim 
or Yost or McCarter. 

It seemed to Buddy that his days were made up 
of sudden hopes and sudden fears. Just at present 

38 


SOWING THE SEED 


hope had come to him again. He knew that Schuy- 
ler held everything at Fairview cheaply. Yet the 
pitcher, at handball, continued to be the livest player 
of them all. Suppose he was the same at baseball, 
dashing, peppery, full of a restless energy? Sup- 
pose he was a boy who threw himself into every 
athletic sport for the pure love of winning? And 
above all, suppose he could pitch ? 

Suddenly Buddy found himself impatient to get 
outdoors. 

The day finally came when the nine went forth. 
The ground was damp and clinging. In spots the 
outfield was swampy. But the air was soft and 
balmy, a bright sun shone overhead, and baseballs 
were plunking into gloves with a sting. What mat- 
tered a wet, sloppy soil ? 

Buddy was here, there and everywhere. He got 
Ahrens to bat grounders to the infielders. A village 
boy who wandered along was coaxed into hitting 
to the outfielders. Schuyler said that it would be 
fine if they had a field house so that they could get 
into uniform without first going home. Today, 
though, there was not a soul to pay attention. 
Schuyler snapped on his glove and called for a 
ball. It was mighty hard, he thought, to make 
these fellows realize what very small potatoes they 
were. 

The students came marching down to the field, 
singing: 


39 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


We’ll get the county pennant and we’ll get it good and 
tight, 

We’ll get it without sweating, it won’t even be a fight 

Buddy grinned. Today the song did not seem 
so arrogant. If Schuyler had control 

Schuyler, apparently, had the ability to throw the 
ball high or low, out or in. And, for all of his 
conceit, he seemed to be quite level-headed once he 
found a baseball in his hands. Boys called to him 
to show a few tricks, but he coolly threw to Buddy 
and did not even increase his speed. Fifteen min- 
utes after he started, he stopped and donned a 
sweater. He knew when he had enough. 

‘This is something like it,’’ he said to Arthur. 
Privately, he was wondering just how good a pitcher 
Arthur was. 

Arthur nodded. Out of the comer of his eye he 
had been watching the new boy. As soon as Schuy- 
ler’s back was turned he hurried to the captain. 

“He handles himself well, Buddy.” 

Buddy drew a deep breath. “If he’ll only fight 
for us. Art, the way — the way ” 

“I think he’ll fight,” the pitcher answered, “just 
for the sake of saying he won. Schuyler isn’t the 
kind who likes to be a loser.” 

It wasn’t all that Buddy would have liked. He 
would have preferred that Schuyler would fight be- 
cause the fight was for Fairview. But any port in a 
40 


SOWING THE SEED 


storm. He ran in and took the bat from the village 
boy’s hand. He felt that he had to hit something 
to let off steam. 

Pilgrim’s voice came faintly. ‘‘Hit it a socker, 
Bud.” 

The captain whanged the ball far over the out- 
fielder’s head. 

Ahrens, hitting to the infielders, grinned. ‘‘Feel- 
ing good. Buddy?” 

Buddy winked. He felt quite well, thank you. 
His hope was that he’d feel a whole lot better the 
day Schuyler and Arthur Stone began to use their 
curves. 

But when that day came he didn’t feel at all like 
prancing around. He was nervous and anxious. 
Many pitchers could control a straight ball but were 
apt to throw a curve ten feet over the catcher’s head. 
Was Schuyler like that? 

During the noon recess the news ran through the 
school that Schuyler was going to show his wares. 
That song about getting the pennant without sweat- 
ing had a wild increase of popularity. Boys who 
had made up their minds to go to a moving picture 
matinee changed their plans and decided to go to 
the village field instead. 

When Buddy came to the field after classes, his 
heart pounded against his ribs. The students were 
grouped in back of where he usually stood while 
warming up pitchers. Their presence annoyed him. 

41 


THE CX)UNTY PENNANT 


“They’ll get Schuyler flustered,” he complained 
to Poole. 

“Not Schuyler,” said Poole. “He has the nerve 
of a goat. Look at him.” 

Schuyler, laughing and chatting with some of the 
students, was supremely unconcerned. 

Nevertheless, Buddy wished that the students 
would go away. He strode out to his place and 
pulled on his mitt. Fairview had longed for a 
pitcher. Well, here’s where she found out if she 
had one. 

Arthur Stone and Schuyler began to throw. At 
first the ball came easily. By degrees it took on 
speed. Presently it was coming in with a powerful 
zip. 

Buddy straightened up. “All right?” he asked. 

“All right,” Schuyler said coolly. 

Arthur nodded. 

The sound of infield and of outfield practice 
ceased. Buddy knew that the players were drawing 
nearer. He signaled to Arthur for a drop. Arthur 
pitched. Buddy returned the ball to Schuyler and 
once more signaled for a drop. 

Schuyler’s arm swept forward. 

“Gee!” said a voice. “That’s almost as good as 
Art’s drop.” 

Buddy’s pulse quickened. Arthur Stone’s drop 
was his best ball, and Schuyler almost equaled it. 
This was a fine beginning. 

42 


SOWING THE SEED 


The captain signaled for out curves. 

Here Schuyler showed up poorly. His curve, in- 
stead of breaking sharply, was of the old-fashioned 
roundhouse variety. 

‘T could hit that a mile,” said a voice from the 
students. 

Buddy felt a bit disappointed. He signaled for 
an ‘hn.” He knew what Arthur could do, and he 
did not pay much attention when Arthur delivered. 
Then Schuyler started his wind-up. Buddy 
crouched and waited. 

A streak of white plunked into his mitt. 

‘^Oh !” he breathed. Was it an accident? Here- 
turned the ball to Schuyler and called for that ‘‘in” 
again. Again it came to him — a streak of white. 

Back of him arose an excited clamor. He paid 
no attention to the sound. His blood ran joyously. 
By all the signs, Fairview had found the pitcher she 
needed. 

A dozen times the captain signaled for that curve. 
Arthur, smiling happily, had stepj5ed behind Schuy- 
ler, where he could watch. 

“That’s some ball,” he said. 

Schuyler gave a slow, superior smile. 

“Oh!” Buddy whispered to himself. “Til wake 
up in a minute and find Fm dreaming.” Just as 
Schuyler’s curve broke in it also broke down. A 
down-drop. A fadeaway I Great Scott, think of a 
Fairview pitcher with a fadeaway! 

43 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


He was on fire to try it against real batting. He 
caught Ahrens’s eye. 

‘Tlay second,” he shouted. Neale! I want 
you to bat. The rest of you fellows take the field. 
Hustle, now.” 

They ran out, knowing what was coming. Buddy 
picked up his mask and adjusted it. Neale selected 
a bat. 

'‘Pitch to this fellow, Schuyler, will you ?” Buddy 
asked. 

Schuyler walked calmly to the mound. 

The crowd found eager places along the foul 
lines. Neale stepped to the plate. Buddy signaled 
for that in. 

A streak of white ! Neale struck so hard he spun 
all the way around. 

“Wow!” yelled the watchers. 

Neale looked surprised and stepped back to the 
plate. Schuyler grinned at him. Neale hunched 
his shoulders. 

This time the ball seemed too far out and too 
high. Neale relaxed. The ball broke down and in, 
and crossed his chest. 

“Strike two I” Buddy chuckled. 

Neale nodded, and narrowed his eyes. 

From the watchers came a rollicking chant : 

We’ll get the county pennant and we’ll get it good and 
tight, 

We’ll get it without sweating 

44 


SOWING THE SEED 


This time Neale judged the ball craftily. Chok- 
ing his bat, he snapped quickly. Again he failed to 
hit. The students shrieked their joy. 

'‘What do you think of it?” Buddy asked in a 
trembling voice. 

The second-baseman spoke in a whisper. ‘TCs a 
beauty, Buddy ; it’s a beauty. What won’t he do to 
those other schools?” 

Buddy felt like quitting practice for the day and 
turning things into a celebration. Fairview had her 
pitcher ! But you couldn’t form a winning nine by 
way of celebrations. He steadied himself and sent 
Neale to his place, and called in boy after boy 
to hit. 

He began to mix the balls he signaled for — now a 
drop, now an out, now a slow ball, now that peach 
of an in. Occasionally the batters would flop the 
leather into a safe place. But the moment the fade- 
away was called for all signs of hitting stopped. 

"Oh!” Buddy breathed. "When he pitches that 
in-curve in the pinches there’ll be nothing to it.” 

He signaled Schuyler to quit and called for Ar- 
thur. Schuyler went over to the foul lines. Boys 
surrounded him and clamored to be near him. He 
smiled indulgently. There was a fight to see what 
boy could mind his glove. Schuyler’s smile grew 
wider. 

He watched Arthur. In fact, ever since that day 
in the cellar when they had played their handball 
45 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


match, he had had a vast respect for the other 
pitcher. He wondered if Arthur would mow the 
batters down as he had done. 

Arthur didn’t. They hit his offerings freely. 

‘'Believe me I’’" Schuyler told himself. 'T guess 
ril be the whole cheese here.” He moved down to- 
ward first base, and now his walk was a pronounced 
swagger. He did not stop to think that whereas 
he had been pitching at top speed, Arthur was tak- 
ing things easy. 

Half an hour later the practice ended. The stu- 
dents swarmed on the field. Quickly they formed a 
circle about the players. Somebody’s voice called 
"Ready, fellows!” The school song swept across 
the diamond : 

Come, lift your voices, let them ring, 

To Fairview’s praise and glory; 

No stain shall darken any page 
Of Fairview’s splendid story. 

Then here’s to her, long may she light 
The path of honor and of right. 

Fairview, the bravest of the brave, 

Long may her noble banners wave. 


Though storms may threaten to engulf. 
And tempests may arise; 

Her courage will throw off the yoke 
And break misfortune’s ties. 

Then here’s to her, long may she light 
The path of honor and of right. 

46 


SOWING THE SEED 


Fairview, the bravest of the brave, 

Long may her noble banners wave. 

The song ended. 

^‘You ought to hear Irontown sing ^Men of 
Iron,’ said Schuyler. 

In an instant Buddy’s joy was soured. When 
everything was going so well, why couldn’t Schuy- 
ler keep still ? What was more, how could he listen 
to the school song sung in his honor and not feel 
an answering thrill ? 

Though the school had so far accepted Schuyler 
with a smile, Buddy was sure that comments as raw 
as this would make trouble. If that happened, 
what good would all the pitching skill in the world 
be ? The canker of unpopularity would rob it of all 
its worth. 

The captain looked around him quickly to see 
how many of the boys were angry. Neale’s face 
was dark. Arthur Stone’s eyes had clouded. Here 
and there among the ball players were looks of 
doubt and distrust. But the main body of students 
seemed to be having just as good a time as before. 
The slap at Fairview had made no difference. 

Buddy drew back a step. Slowly he tucked the 
mitt under his arm and walked toward the road. 
After a while he felt Poole and Wally near him. 
He looked away. 

On the field the celebration continued. Schuyler 
47 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 

started for home. A score of boys went with him. 

‘Those fellows seem to forget that Art is a 
pitcher, too,’’ Wally cried savagely. 

Buddy did not hear. His eyes were on Schuy- 
ler’s haughty back. He saw the new boy turn the 
corner and the crowd trail after. Another moment 
and they were gone. 

Buddy faced his friends. “Did you notice — 
that?” he asked. 

“They want what other schools have,” Poole 
explained gently. 

“They didn’t want it last year,” Buddy said. 

“Schuyler wasn’t here to paint pictures for them 
last year.” 

“But they can’t have those things,” Buddy cried. 
“It’s impossible. They’ll only make themselves dis- 
satisfied, and then ” 

“I know,” said Poole. 

Buddy wormed his fingers into the mitt. That 
hollow at the base of the thumb had received Schuy- 
ler’s glorious curve. He studied the worn leather. 
Suddenly he yanked off the mitt and stuck it back 
under his arm. 

“Fairview spirit!” he said bitterly. “Gee! what 
a lemon.” 

He swung around and strode away. Poole and 
Wally stood there and watched him go. 

“Did you hear him,” Wally whispered, “calling 
Fairview spirit a lemon?” 

48 


SOWING THE SEED 


“He doesn’t mean it,” said Poole. “He’s been 
stung. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.” 

In fact, Buddy did not even know where he was 
going. It was blind instinct that led him home. 
He went around to the back and sat on the kitchen 
steps. 

He had known all along that the odds were 
against Fairview in the pennant fight. He was the 
only catcher. True, Neale could go behind the bat, 
but that would leave a vacancy at second-base. If 
a player was shifted to second, that left a gap 
some place else. He had counted on school spirit 
to balance the scales — and now, apparently, school 
spirit was dead. The students could sing their 
school hymn and laugh when another boy dragged 
in Irontown. Oh, the bitterness of it! 

Had Buddy expected something like this, he 
might have braced himself and been prepared. In- 
stead, it had come out of a clear sky. He had 
caught that dazzling curve and his hopes had 
mounted. In imagination he had seen school after 

school going down to defeat. Now Now he 

wouldn’t have given the fleas from a sick cat for 
Fairview’s chances. 

He was still sitting on the steps when Bob came 
home. 

“Hello !” Bob looked at him a moment. 
“What’s up?” 

“Everything,” said Buddy. He passed into the 

49 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


house and went upstairs to his room. He heard 
Bob say, '‘Hold up supper a few minutes, Mother, 
will you ?’’ Then there was a step on the threshold 
and Bob was in the room with him. 

"Let’s have it,” Bob said encouragingly. "Maybe 
it isn’t as bad as you think.” 

Buddy tried to force a brave smile, and failed. 
He told of the things that Schuyler had said, and 
of the pictures nailed to the cellar joist, and of that 
day’s climax to the practice. When he had fin- 
ished, Bob sat staring at the floor. 

"How does the nine feel?” Bob asked at last. 

Buddy thought of Pilgrim and Yost and Mc- 
Carter. Since the day he had found Pilgrim and 
Yost standing in front of the picture in the cellar 
there had been nothing to arouse his suspicions. 
Besides, Pilgrim had been the first recruit to come 
to him when he had started his war on ringers. 

He thought next of Neale and of Arthur Stone — 
of how Neale’s face had darkened that day and of 
how Arthur’s eyes had clouded. He thought, too, 
of Hill and Linquist and Carlson. They had all 
stood together before. He thought he knew them. 

"The nine’s all right,” he said. 

"Well ” Bob’s eyes met his. "It’s the nine 

that must go out and play the games.” 

Buddy sprang up and paced the room. Some 
heroic cord of his nature was touched and a surge 
of new courage swept through his veins. It was 

50 


SOWING THE SEED 


the nine that had to play the games! It was the 
nine that had to go out there and do the job ! Even 
if the school drifted after false gods, even if the 
spirit grew lax, by some miracle the nine might 
hold together and fight its battles to the end. 

Outside he heard the footsteps of boys tramping 
past the house. They began to sing : 

Though storms may threaten to engulf, 

And tempests may arise; 

Her courage will throw off the yoke 
And break misfortune’s ties. 

Then here’s to her 

The song died away. Buddy came over to his 
brother’s chair. 

‘‘As long as the nine holds together,” he said, 
^There’s a chance. We’ll fight until the last game 
has been played. Some day, perhaps, when the fel- 
lows see us battling our way against odds, the old 
spirit of Fairview will come back.” 

Bob gave him a rousing thump across the shoul- 
ders. ‘‘You can do it, kid.” 

“If the nine holds together,” said Buddy. His 
nostrils twitched, “posh 1” he added ; “I’m hungry 
— now.” 

After supper he consulted the schedule. A week 
later came the opening game with Saddle River. 
A week later and the battle would be on. A shiver- 
ing thrill ran up and down his back. 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


‘'County champions!” he murmured. It was a 
possibility, after all. 

Next day, in his zeal, he itched to hurl the nine 
at its practice, to bring it to a high pitch of perfec- 
tion. But the afternoon turned sluggishly warm. 
The players sweltered and soon became languid. 

Buddy himself felt the heat. Sooner than weary 
the squad, he called the practice to a halt. There 
was a race for the shade of a giant oak tree that 
stood beyond the first-base foul line. 

Stretched off on the ground the players chatted 
gayly. Yost cried exultingly that next week the 
big fight started. Carlson sat up straight. 

“There’s eighteen games on that schedule,” he 
said. “How many must we win to have a chance ?” 

Several of the boys shook their heads and looked 
at Buddy. 

“In the big leagues,” the captain said, “the team 
that wins usually has an average of about .600.” 

Carlson wrinkled his forehead. “Six hundred ! 
Then if we won eleven games ” 

“Let’s win twelve and cinch the pennant,” said 
Neale. 

Buddy’s heart leaped. Here was the courage he 
counted on! 

“That shouldn’t be so hard,” said Carlson. “If 

Art wins six games and if Schuyler wins six 

Hello! Schuyler is having a thought.” 

Schuyler turned his head lazily. 

52 


SOWING THE SEED 


‘‘Bet you're wondering how many games you’ll 
win,” said Hill, the third-baseman. 

Schuyler shook his head. “I was thinking,” he 
said, “that if we had things at this school we’d be 
taking our showers now, and rubbing dry, and sit- 
ting around in the locker-room as cool as you 
please.” He sprang to his feet. “Guess I’ll go 
home and climb into the bathtub.” 

He walked off the field. All talk of a pennant 
stopped. Neale pulled a few blades of grass and 
looked at them thoughtfully. 

“I wish we did have showers here,” said Pilgrim. 

Buddy gave a quick, startled glance. The out- 
fielder flushed. 

“I’m not finding fault,” he protested. 

But Buddy knew that the nine was beginning to 
break and drift. 


CHAPTER IV 


A NOTE FROM CARROTS 

T he gathering under the oak tree broke up. 
One by one the players strolled away. Ar- 
thur Stone and Neale were the last to go. 
They stood for a moment uncomfortable, unde- 
cided, and then walked off without saying a word. 
But Buddy knew that they understood. 

The next day was Saturday. Buddy had not 
called practice for the day. He was glad now that 
he had not, for he was in no mood for baseball. 

He was spading the vegetable patch that after- 
noon when Poole and Wally came along. He 
dropped the spade and came over to the porch, 
‘Tilgrim has caught it,’’ he said. 

Poole looked at him quickly. ‘‘Schuyler?” 
Buddy nodded. 

“Good night!” said Wally. “You can ring down 
the curtain now.” 

Buddy’s chin hardened. He was discouraged. 
There was no getting away from that. But as for 
quitting Somehow, every fresh discourage- 

ment seemed to give him an extra ounce of bull-dog 
grit. Slowly the feeling was coming to him that 
54 


A NOTE FROM CARROTS 


this was a battle of wits — Schuyler trying to wreck 
the nine with false beacons ; he trying to keep it off 
the rocks. 

“Are there any others?’’ Poole asked. 

Buddy nodded again. “Two, I think.” 

“Two? Who are they?” 

“McCarter and Yost.” 

Poole whistled. First-base, shortstop and an 
outfielder. And added to that, a pitcher who might 
or might not be worth the powder to blow him up 
because his loyalty was weak. 

“Are you sure about Yost and McCarter?” Poole 
asked. 

Buddy admitted he was not. 

“It doesn’t seem possible,” the president of the 
A. A. said slowly. “They were with us in the fight 
against ringers ” 

“So was Pilgrim,” said Buddy. 

There was a long spell of silence. 

“Believe me,” said Wally. “I’d make sure about 
those two fellows.” 

“I’m going to,” said Buddy. 

He had already told Bob that the nine was di- 
vided. Now he decided to waste no time in finding 
out where he stood. Monday morning he loitered 
on the way to school until Yost and McCarter over- 
took him. 

“Only two more days,” he said cheerfully. 
“Wednesday we play Saddle River.” 

55 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


The players nodded, but their eyes did not flame 
with the battle light. Yost said something about 
the small school being the under dog. 

'"All the more glory if we win,’' said Buddy. 

‘‘But ” 

“Nobody thought about odds when the league 
was organized,” Buddy interrupted sharply. “We 
were all glad to get in it.” 

Yost was silent. McCarter stepped into the 
breach. 

“"Look at those schools that have paid coaches, 
Buddy,” he remonstrated. 

“What about them?” Buddy demanded. “We 
knew they had paid coaches.” 

Yost took courage. “They have other things 
besides coaches ; lockers, shower baths ” 

Buddy’s lips tightened. “Would you fellows be 
able to play better ball if you had lockers?” 

“Well ” Yost began uneasily. 

“It’s this way. Buddy,” said McCarter. “The 
locker-room belongs to the nine. It’s theirs. It 
gives the players a different feeling.” 

“How do you know? We never had a locker- 
room.” 

McCarter flushed uncomfortably. “It seems that 
way, doesn’t it?” 

Buddy wanted to take them by the shoulders and 
shake them and say, “Schuyler’s been telling you 
that, hasn’t he?” 


A NOTE FROM CARROTS 


He restrained himself. To quarrel now would 
only make matters worse. 

‘Tellows/’ he said, ^'the big thing is that we want 
Fairview to win. Isn’t that so?” 

‘^Sure it is,” McCarter answered eagerly. 

‘T guess yes,” said Yost. He seemed glad that 
the conversation had taken this turn. 

“And we’ll work hard to make her win, won’t 
we ?” 

“You bet,” they answered together, v 

“Well,” Buddy smiled, “what have paid coaches 
and lockers got to do with that?” 

The question seemed to catch them napping. 
Buddy had hoped that they would speak right out 
and say, “Nothing to do with it.” Instead, they 
seemed at a loss for words. 

“Why Yost looked at McCarter for en- 

couragement. “Nothing to do with it, I guess,” he 
said weakly. 

That faltering “I guess” sent a chill through 
Buddy’s blood. 

The danger was greater than he had feared. He 
had been frightened lest the nine lose that invisible 
something that spelled spirit. Now he knew that a 
gift even more precious was slowly dying. Two 
players, at least, were beginning to whine and to 
quit. They were rapidly losing faith in Fairview’s 
chances. 

Buddy paused outside the school steps. Schuy- 

57 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


ler approached, his books tucked under one arm. 
As usual, several students tagged at his heels. 

“Hello, Jones,” he said airily. 

“Hello,” said Buddy. The pitcher passed him. 
He had a mind to follow, to get Schuyler alone in 
a classroom, to try to show him the havoc he was 
creating. In the end he shook his head and stayed 
where he was. Schuyler would not understand. 
Schuyler would probably ask him, blandly, was it 
his fault that the school didn’t have what other 
schools had. 

Then, too, if Schuyler put thoughts of defeat 
into the heads of McCarter and Yost, wasn’t that a 
sign that he, himself, doubted that victory could 
come to Fairview’s banners? Would he doubt even 
while he was pitching? 

“No matter which way I turn,” Buddy thought 
miserably, “I’m up against it.” 

But there was no thought of surrender. The 
fighting lines formed about his mouth. He’d stick 
it out until the last game. That would be his motto. 
Until the last game! 

Before the school bell rang he was planning. 
Schuyler had talked big about paid coaches. All 
right; he’d meet that. He’d get a coach for Fair- 
view as good as any paid coach. He’d get Carrots 
O’Toole. 

Carrots pitched Saturday afternoons for the 
Fairview B. B. C., a semi-professional organization, 

58 


A NOTE FROM CARROTS 


and he had been offered a try-out by one of the 
teams in the State League. Long ago he had volun- 
teered to help with the nine. Now the time had 
come to send for him. 

The captain hurried inside. Before classes he 
scribbled a note. At noon he met Poole. 

‘‘Any word about McCarter and Yost?’' the presi- 
dent of the A. A. asked in an undertone. 

“They don’t think the school has much of a 
chance,” said Buddy. 

“No?” Poole was surprised. 

“They say the other schools have paid 
coaches ” 

“Oh ! Schuyler’s work. What are you going to 
do?” 

“Get a coach,” said Buddy. He held out a note. 
“Will you leave that at Carrots’s house?” 

Slowly a smile crossed Poole’s face. He took 
the note. 

“Good boy,” he said. “This ought to fix things. 
Carrots knows baseball from the home plate to 
center field.” 

“And the fellows know it,” said Buddy. He 
walked home. Until the last game! 

That afternoon, instead of warming up the pitch- 
ers at once. Buddy told them to wait a while. 
Schuyler looked surprised. Buddy went off where 
he could watch his infield. 

It had always been a pleasure for him to see the 

59 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


way McCarter, at short, could get a ball and flip it 
to Neale at second, and the way Neale could whip 
it down to Yost at first base. Today, though, some- 
thing was wrong. Twice McCarter fumbled, and 
once he threw past Neale. Buddy shook his head 
angrily. 

‘Tt isn't fair to the school," he muttered. ‘Why 
can't they see that?" 

“Hello, Carrots!" somebody called. 

Buddy whipped around. A tall, ruddy, red- 
haired boy was striding toward him. The boy 
grinned and waved his hand. 

“I got your note. Bud," he said. “When does 
the season open?" 

“In two days." 

“Huh! Why didn’t you send for me sooner? 
What's your first game?" 

“Saddle River." 

“Here?” 

“No; at Saddle River." 

Carrots whistled a moment. “They're a tough 
bunch to beat on their own grounds." He glanced 
about the field. “Who's that lad over there?” 

“Schuyler Arch," Buddy answered. “He's a new 
student. He came here from Irontown.” 

“From Irontown, eh? What does he do?" 

“Pitch.” 

“Yah!" Carrots took a glove from his hip 
pocket. “He's my meat. I’ll look him over.” 

6o 


A NOTE FROM CARROTS 


Buddy called the pitchers. Carrots lined up with 
them and began to throw. Schuyler flashed him a 
look of surprise. 

*'Hello, stranger/’ said Carrots. 

‘"Hello,” said Schuyler. His eyes ran from Car- 
rots’s head down to his shoes. They said quite 
plainly, “What are you doing here?” 

Carrots chuckled. “I’m out here to look you 
over, son.” 

Schuyler was mystified. If this fellow was try- 
ing to make sport of him, he wouldn’t get very far. 
The pitcher turned his back and gave his attention 
to his work. 

As soon as the first curve was thrown Carrots 
dropped out of the line and put his glove in his 
pocket. Schuyler wanted to look around to see 
where he had gone, but he thought it would not be 
wise to show so much interest. 

“A little more snap on that drop. Art,” came the 
voice from the rear. 

Art nodded. 

Then: 

“Try to get it down lower.” 

Schuyler glanced out of the corner of his eye and 
saw Art nod again. He watched when his com- 
panion pitched. The ball broke low. 

“Fine,” said the voice. 

Schuyler could not imagine who this red-haired 
boy could be, nor why he should have so much to 
6i 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


say. But then you could expect anything at a 
school where they played handball in a cellar. 

Presently Schuyler had the feeling that Arthur 
was no longer under scrutiny, and that he was 
being watched. Buddy signaled for his ‘‘in.’’ He 
threw it three times. Then that voice halted 
him. 

“Put more of your body into it.” 

Schuyler looked around. 

Carrots grinned friendlily. “Don’t pitch with 
your arm alone. Use your body, too. Give it all 
the steam you have.” 

Schuyler sent an inquiring glance at Buddy. Was 
he to take orders from this red-haired fellow? 

“Come on,” Buddy cried. “Shoot it.” 

Schuyler tried to obey and made a wild pitch. 

“You’ll be rusty at first,” said Carrots. “Here; 
let me show you.” 

Schuyler watched Carrots use a body swing. 
There was no denying that Carrots threw with a 
graceful ease. The pitcher tried to imitate the mo- 
tion. It was all new to him. Body and arm and 
wrist did not work together. The curve lost its 
speed and its sparkle. When the ball was thrown 
back to him, he caught it with a sulky clutch of his 
glove. 

“Easy,” said Carrots. “You can’t grow potatoes 
overnight. Stick to your shooting. That will be 
some ball when you get it right.” 

62 


A NOTE FROM CARROTS 


Schuyler bit his lips with vexation. He’d like to 
tell this fellow a thing or two. But he didn’t, prin- 
cipally because he did not know who the fellow 
might be. When the pitching was over he slipped 
on a sweater and stepped to one side. 

From the foul lines he watched Carrots wade into 
the fielding practice. Every player jumped when 
he spoke. The mystery became greater. 

By and by the practice ended for the day. Car- 
rots called the players around him. He seemed to 
be lecturing on what faults he had observed. 
Schuyler, remaining where he was, waited impa- 
tiently. Finally the talk was over. The players 
scattered. Schuyler beckoned to Yost and they left 
the field together. 

'‘Who’s that red-haired fellow?” Schuyler asked. 

"That’s Carrots O’Toole,” the first-baseman an- 
swered. "Haven’t you heard about him ? He used 
to play on our teams. He used to work on a ped- 
dler’s wagon, but he saved his money last winter 
and bought an interest in the route. He’s studying 
at home, and the high school teachers are always 
lending him books and helping him.” 

"Peddler’s wagon,” said Schuyler. "Has he no 
connection with the school?” 

Yost shook his head. "No. He used to play on 
our teams, but when we abolished ringers ” 

"He played with the teams and wasn’t a stu- 
dent?” Schuyler demanded incredulously. 

63 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


‘‘Sure. Nobody thought it was wrong in those 
days.” 

“And now he’s Is he coaching the nine?” 

Yost nodded. 

“After having been a ringer?” 

Yost nodded again. 

“My eye !” said Schuyler. He drew a deep 
breath. “You wouldn’t see anything like that hap- 
pen at Irontown.” 

Up to this moment the first-baseman had seen 
nothing wrong in Carrots’s association with the nine. 
Now, however, Schuyler had thrown about the 
whole matter a suspicion of sickening taint. 

“Carrots knows baseball,” Yost said weakly. He 
was stirred by a spark of loyalty to a friend — a very 
faint spark. 

“A fat lot he knows,” Schuyler retorted. “You 
fellows know what my in-curve is. Well, at Iron- 
town they had a paid coach and he showed me how 
to pitch it. A paid coach ought to know some- 
thing.” 

Yost nodded. Else why was he paid money? 

“Well, Carrots wants me to pitch it differently. 
Just takes one look at me and wants me to pitch it 
differently. What do you know about that?” 

Yost looked incredulous. “Gosh! Is that what 
Carrots was doing over there with you?” 

“That’s what. I guess a paid coach ought to 
know more than a fellow on a peddler’s wagon.” 

64 


A NOTE FROM CARROTS 


“He ought to/' Yost admitted. He had always 
regarded Carrots as a marvel of baseball wisdom. 
Now he began to have his doubts. A paid coach 
loomed in his mind as a person with powers above 
the average, with wisdom equal to that of a Solo- 
mon, with a judgment that was infallible. And as 

for Carrots Well, he had seen Carrots pitch 

and he had seen Carrots beaten. 

“I’ll stick to the way they showed me at Iron- 
town,” Schuyler decided. 

Yost became thoughtful. “But if Carrots in- 
sists ” 

“My eye !” said Schuyler. “It won’t take me long 
to ask him where he gets off. A ringer ! He ought 
to be ashamed to show his nose on our field and 
the fellows ought to be ashamed to have him there.” 

“You won’t say all that to him, will you?” Yost 
asked in alarm. Carrots’s temper had never been 
any too steady. 

“N — no,” said Schuyler. He had been impressed 
by the red-haired boy’s bulk. “But I’ll tell him he 
doesn’t rate as high as a paid coach.” 

Yost nodded. He was positive now Carrots’s 
reputation was altogether too high, and he had an 
idea that somebody ought to speak to Buddy about 
it. 

But the boy who would have gone to the cap- 
tain at that minute would not have stayed long. For 
he and Carrots were walking up and down the field, 

65 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


and Carrots was showing his baseball sense by 
unerringly placing his finger on a sore spot — one 
sore spot, anyway. 

‘‘What’s the matter with McCarter ?” he asked. 

Buddy was startled. “Why?” 

“He isn’t playing his old game. Where’s his 
pep? What has happened?” 

Buddy evaded the question. He feared to tell 
Carrots the plight of the nine. He was afraid Car- 
rots might say things that, while truthful, would 
not be any too encouraging. Just at present he was 
sure that he needed to keep a grip on all the cour- 
age he had. For one thing, it seemed that condi- 
tions must be worse than he had thought, else how 
had Carrots managed to see so much in one short 
afternoon? 

“That fellow Arch is some pitcher,” Carrots 
said. “If he puts a body swing behind that curve 
he’ll have something.” 

But Buddy could find no solace in news about 
Schuyler. Every time Schuyler gave a hint of prom- 
ise, he destroyed that promise by some succeeding 
act. 

McCarter’s fielding that afternoon had alarmed 
the captain. Of course, it may have been only a 
temporary let-down. On the other hand, it might 
have been the first indication of a general slacken- 
ing. If it was the latter, would Yost and Pilgrim 
follow? Would they go off their game, too? 

66 


A NOTE FROM CARROTS 


Day after tomorrow the season would begin. If 
Fairview began to lose at the start, she would prob- 
ably be out of the race before the schedule was one- 
third played. In a pennant fight there was no such 
thing as saying, ‘'Oh, well; wait until the next 
game.” Every game was the game. 

“After this,” Buddy bowed grimly, ‘Til work 
them hard. I won’t give them a chance to think of 
anything but baseball.” 

He was resolved to lose no time. In the morning, 
when he went to school, he carried a ball and a 
glove. He found Schuyler sitting idly on the 
steps. 

“How about trying that body swing?” he asked. 

Schuyler arose lazily. “Fll warm up a bit,” he 
said, “but nix on that body swing.” 

Buddy had been adjusting the mitt. He swung 
around. “What’s that?” 

“It’s this way,” Schuyler explained calmly. “At 
Irontown they had a paid coach. He showed me the 
delivery I use. Paid coaches ought to know some- 
thing.” 

Buddy took off the mitt. There was no warm-up 
that morning. He was up against another stone 
wall. To compel Schuyler to use a delivery he had 
no confidence in would be to have him lose half of 
his effectiveness. He would then be a mark for the 
batters of other schools. And yet, to let him force 

Irontown opinions down Fairview throats 

67 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


‘"Gee!” Buddy growled. ‘If it isn’t one thing, 
it’s another.” 

That afternoon he decided not to bother with 
the pitching until Carrots came. The huckster 
wagon, he knew, would be stabled at four o’clock, 
and Carrots would reach the field a few minutes 
later. 

He batted grounders from the plate and directed 
the infield practice. As the minutes passed, he told 
himself that things were a little better. McCarter 
was not missing them today. 

A few minutes past four o’clock Carrots ap- 
peared. Buddy hurried forward to meet him. 

‘T want to use Art tomorrow,” he said. “Give 
him a good looking over, will you?” 

“Sure. How’s Schuyler boy making out? Been 
practicing that body swing?” 

Buddy shook his head. Carrots looked at him, 
puckered his eyes, then grinned. 

“Can’t see it, eh? Finds it hard and gets dis- 
couraged ? Can’t get the break using the body swing 
and thinks he’ll never get it, eh? We’ll fix that. 
All he needs is a little courage.” 

Buddy said nothing. He took his place and the 
ball began to plunk into his mitt. When the curves 
began to break, he felt his nerves, grow tight. 
What was going to happen in the next few min- 
utes? 

Schuyler delivered his in. 

68 


A NOTE FROM CARROTS 

Carrots touched his arm. '‘Hello, there, son; 
what became of the body swing 

“Fm not using it,’' Schuyler said coldly. 

“So I see. Why not?” 

“I was taught that delivery at Irontown by a 
coach. He was a paid coach and he knew his busi- 
ness.” 

“Oh!” said Carrots. He looked at Buddy, and 
shook his head, and abruptly gave all his attention 
to Arthur Stone. 

“He knows he’s wrong,” Schuyler told himself 
gleefully. He was vastly relieved. He had had 
an idea that this red-haired peddler might be nasty. 

All went well with the pitching until Arthur 
tried his drop. 

“It isn’t there today. Art,” said Carrots. “Try 
again.” 

Arthur tried several times. Suddenly Carrots 
caught him by the arm. 

“Does your wrist hurt?” 

Arthur nodded. “A little. I was going through 
a classroom this morning and bumped it against a 
desk. It’s nothing much.” 

But Carrots picked up his right hand and ex- 
amined the wrist intently, pushing and prodding and 
twisting. 

Buddy, anxious, had approached. Carrots took 
him aside. 

“I’m no doctor. Bud. Just the same I wouldn’t 
69 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


let him pitch for a couple of days if I were you.’' 

‘'But I wanted to use him tomorrow. You know 
what Saddle River is when she plays at home.” 

“You’re the boss,” said Carrots. “If / were cap- 
tain he wouldn’t pitch. He might make that wrist 
good and sore if he uses it much. Can’t you work 
Schuyler ?” 

Buddy looked down at his mitt and nodded — 
slowly. 

“Is he troubled with it much ?” Carrots asked. 

Buddy still looked down. “With what?” 

“Irontown.” 

Buddy hesitated. 

“Is that what’s the matter with McCarter, too?” 

Buddy decided to own up. Besides, if Carrots 
was going to coach every day he would have to 
know all the team secrets. 

Quickly Buddy told his story. 

“How are you,” Carrots asked; “game to fight 
it out?” 

“I must,” Buddy answered. 

“Then let’s dig in here and stir up the pepper. 
The way to beat hard luck is to chase it with an 
ax.” 

But all the pepper that went into the work from 
then on was of Carrots’s manufacture. Buddy’s 
spirits were dampened. He wanted to win that first 
game. A victory would start the nine off with a 
rush. A defeat would give it a chance to doubt 
70 


A NOTE FROM CARROTS 


itself. And here he was forced to use Schuyler, a 
boy who thought that a school couldn’t win with- 
out a paid coach, and lockers, and shower baths. 
Gosh! wasn’t it tough? 

The captain announced that Arthur’s wrist would 
have to be rested for a day of two, and that Schuy- 
ler would pitch against Saddle River. The players, 
thinking of that in-curve and what it should do, 
threw up their caps and yelled. Buddy forced a 
smile. He wondered how many of the players 
would be cheering if they could see things as he saw 
them. 

Next day the nine went to Saddle River by stage. 
Just before the start, a boy came running up with 
a letter for Buddy. 

"‘Carrots O’Toole gave me this,” the youngster 
panted. “He said not to open it until after the 
game.” 

Buddy stared at the envelope a moment and put 
it in his pocket. 

All the way to Saddle River the players talked 
eagerly. Today the entire league went into action. 
Irontown played at Pompton, Garrison at Bruns- 
wick, Bloomfield at Lackawanna, and Hasbrouck 
at Gates. Every boy had his own idea as to what 
schools would win. 

“Fairview will win,” said Neale, “no matter what 
else happens.” 

“Sure thing,” said Pilgrim. 

71 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 

“We’ll show Saddle River a trick or two,” Carl- 
son predicted. “She’s a tough team to beat on her 
own grounds, but we’re a tough team to beat on 
anybody’s grounds.” 

Buddy drew a deep breath. If everybody felt 

like that His eyes searched the coach for 

Schuyler. He was down in a far corner talking to 
McCarter and Yost. 

“If he’ll only pitch,” Buddy murmured. “If he’ll 
only forget about paid coaches and lockers — and 
pitch.” 

Schuyler pitched. No captain could have asked 
more. For six innings he held Saddle River score- 
less, and during that time Fairview accumulated 
four runs. The game appeared to be as good as 
won. 

And then, in the seventh, something happened. 
Buddy, catching, could detect a difference almost 
from the time the first ball struck his glove. The 
speed seemed to be gone. The sharp break was no 
longer there. 

Saddle River scored twice. 

“He was entitled to one bad inning,” Buddy told 
-<iimself. On the rough pine bench that Saddle 
River provided for visitors he sat next to Schuyler 
and talked encouragingly. Schuyler listened in 
silence. When it came time for him to pitch the 
eighth, he threw off his sweater and stepped toward 
the mound. 


72 


A NOTE FROM CARROTS 


The first boy greeted him with a double. Buddy’s 
heart became as lead. When the next batter fouled 
out to Hill, the third-baseman, the captain cheered 
gayly. But he knew that Fairview’s cause was 
shaky. Schuyler’s delivery was becoming weaker 
and weaker. 

The next boy singled, and then came a crashing 
three-bagger. The score was tied. 

Buddy swallowed a lump in his throat. Gram- 
mar school boys could have hit what Schuyler was 
throwing now. 

‘‘Good-by, ball game,” he said huskily. He 
wished he had brought Arthur Stone along. 

Three more runs came in before the last boy 
was out. Wally Hamilton, scoring the game, shook 
his head sadly. He hoped that Fairview would tie 
it up in the ninth. 

But Fairview didn’t. She did not get a boy on 
base. What had looked Kke victory in the sixth by 
a score of 4 to o was defeat in the ninth by a score 
of 7 to 4. 

As Carlson lifted a fly to right field for the third 
out Buddy turned from the third-base coaching bo’ 
and walked to the bench for his sweater and glove. 
The players hurried toward the dressing-room. 
Buddy followed slowly after them, and Wally 
walked at his side. 

“Chowder!” the scorer cried. “He was going 
great at the start. What happened?” 

73 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


Buddy shook his head. 

''Did he Wally hesitated. 

"You mean did he lose his nerve? No. When a 
pitcher loses his nerve he gets wabbly. Schuyler 
was steady enough. One inning he had every- 
thing; the next inning he had nothing.” 

"But there ought to be a reason for it,” Wally 
insisted. 

Yes; there ought to be. But what that reason 
was Buddy could not even begin to guess. What 
was more, for the moment he was weary with dis- 
appointment. He didn’t want to think about it 
at all. 

They came to the dressing-room and opened the 
door. A voice came from inside, Yost’s: 

"We were up against it from the start,” the voice 
said. 

"Didn’t we lead for six innings?” Neale de- 
manded. 

"Yes. But they had a paid coach. Didn’t you 
see him sitting on their bench advising them ? They 
have ” 

Buddy strode forward. "Yost!” 

The first-baseman gave a quick, frightened glance. 

"We have Carrots,” the captain said sharply. 
"We always thought he knew baseball.” 

Yost dropped his eyes. Neale started to say 
something, checked himself, and began to throw his 
baseball things into a grip. Schuyler, adjusting a 
74 


A NOTE FROM CARROTS 

cravat in front of a wall mirror, apparently had no 
interest in what was happening. 

The Saddle River dressing-room had all the lux- 
uries of a big school. Buddy took his shower. The 
cold water cooled his fevered blood. Oh, the bit- 
terness of hearing a Fairview boy whining that the 
other school had the breaks! The bitterness of a 
Fairview boy accepting defeat with weak excuses! 

Buddy knew that he could thank Schuyler for this 
latest kink in his baseball plans. It was Schuy- 
ler’s talk of paid coaches that had started Yost. 
For a moment, as he dressed, he again considered 
the advisability of going over and talking to Schuy- 
ler as boy to boy, of trying to show him that he 
was poisoning the nine. Then he gave up the idea. 
Talking to Schuyler would be like pouring water 
into the ocean — exciting to the pourer but abso- 
lutely without effect upon the ocean. Schuyler was 
one of those bland, blundering, maddening individ- 
uals who are always right. 

Buddy would have preferred to ride home alone. 
But to ride home apart from the nine, after what 
had happened in the dressing-room, would be to 
invite gossip. He walked to the stage with the 
players. He went up front. Yost stayed far in 
the back. 

Four hours ago the nine had ridden into Saddle 
River alive with hope and confidence. Now it was 
going back, beaten. Nor was that the worst. The 
75 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


boy who had been called upon to help coach the 
nine, to mold it into a winner, had been attacked, 
his knowledge flouted, his prestige dimmed. 

Thinking of Carrots made Buddy think of some- 
thing else. He put his hand in his pocket, found 
the letter that had been given him, and pulled it 
out. Inside the envelope was a note. He read it 
slowly : 

Schuyler wouldn’t use my body swing, so just watch 
and see if I’m right. His arm will tire. Along about 
the seventh or eighth inning he’ll get his. See if I’m 
right. 

Wally Hamilton edged close to the captain. 

“Say, Buddy, how is Carrots going to help you 
if the fellows think he knows nothing?” 

Buddy sighed, and shook his head, and put the 
note away. 


CHAPTER V 


THE FIELD HOUSE 

T he news of the nine's defeat had preceded it 
to Fairview. When the stage came to a halt 
at the village post office, Poole was the only 
high school boy waiting. He clutched Buddy's arm 
and said that one game didn’t mean so much, and 
that, anyway, there were seventeen more games left. 

“More happened today than just losing a game,” 
said Wally. 

Buddy was in no mood for talk. He let Wally 
tell the story of what had occurred in the Saddle 
River dressing-room. 

“Yost!” Poole cried in astonishment. “Did he 
make a crack like that?” 

“He did,” Wally answered. “He said that we 
must expect to get licked by schools that have paid 
coaches.” 

“He didn't say that,” Buddy contradicted in a 
tired voice. 

“He meant it,” Wally flashed back. 

Buddy was silent. He did not tell about Carrots's 
note. Some day he would stick it under Schuyler's 
nose. Not now, though. Schuyler would say that 
77 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


one defeat proved nothing. But some day, after 

he had been trounced two or three times Buddy 

winced. Two or three defeats would cut a big slice 
if Fairview hoped to win at least eleven of her 
remaining seventeen games. 

He said good-by to Poole and Wally outside his 
gate. In the dining-room he found Bob and his 
mother already at supper. 

‘Win?” Bob asked. 

Buddy shook his head. 

“Bad beating?” 

“No; Schuyler blew up in the seventh and 
eighth.” 

Bob broke a piece of bread. “Anything dse?” 
he asked shrewdly. 

Now that Buddy was eating he felt more like 
talking. He told his story. 

“I wouldn’t have minded,” he ended, “if Yost 
had made a dozen errors. He can play ball. I’d 
have taken his errors as just the luck of the game. 

But to have him whine and wilt I can’t stand 

for that. Bob.” 

Bob nodded thoughtfully. “Got any substitutes ?” 

“One; Ahrens.” 

“How is he?” 

“Can’t hit.” 

“Tough luck,” said Bob. 

Buddy nodded. Yet, this thing of discounting 
Fairview’s chances, of destroying confidence, had 

78 


THE FIELD HOUSE 


to stop. Yost’s treason could not go unpunished. 
He and every member of the nine had to be made 
to understand that Fairview demanded a whole 
heart. 

‘‘What are you going to do ?” Bob asked. 

“Fm going to drop Yost,” Buddy answered 
slowly. 

“For good?” 

“No; until he gets the poison out of his sys- 
tem.” 

Bob smiled quietly. No bitterness or mean anger 
here. Everything for the good of the school. 
Aloud he said: 

“It may mean lost games, Bud.” 

“It means lost games if the fellows begin to 
crawl.” 

“But you might be able to skin through this 
season.” 

Buddy shook his head. “That wouldn’t be fair. 
That would be ducking. That would be leaving it 
for next year’s captain to fight.” 

“But the pennant ” Bob began. 

“This is bigger than the pennant,” said Buddy. 
“Fairview’s spirit is at stake.” 

Bob stood up. “Kid,” he said, “you’re going to 
win out. I can feel it in my bones.” 

“I wish I could feel it in mine,” Buddy sighed. 

That night Poole came around with news of how 
all the games had gone. Irontown had won from 
79 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


Pompton, Brunswick had beaten Hasbrouck, Lacka- 
wanna had defeated Bloomfield, and Gates had come 
out on top in a batting bee with Garrison. 

Buddy made a record of the games. The presi- 
dent of the A. A. reached for his hat, turned to- 
ward the door, hesitated. 

“Schuyler’s back of Yost,” he said meaningly. 

“We can’t fight Schuyler,” Buddy sighed. “He’s 
been too clever. Out at Saddle River he didn’t 
open his mouth. He doesn’t say things against 
Fairview. He just says things about Fair- 
view.” 

“But this influence he’s creating ” Poole be- 

gan hotly. 

“That’s what we must fight,” Buddy said. “We 
must make the fellows feel the same way about 
the school as they felt before Schuyler ever came 
here.” 

Poole looked at him a moment. “How?” 

Buddy’s jaw hardened. “I don’t know — now.” 

And, somehow, Poole went away comforted. 

Monday morning the captain posted this record 
on the high school bulletin board : 



W. 

L. 

PC. 


W. 

L. 

PC. 

Irontown .... 


0 

I.OOO 

Pompton . . . 

. . 0 

I 

.000 

Saddle River. 

. I 

0 

1 . 000 

Garrison . . . 


I 

.ooo 

Brunswick . . 

. I 

0 

I.OOO 

Bloomfield . 

.. . 0 

I 

.000 

Lackawanna . 

. I 

0 

I.OOO 

Hasbrouck . 

... o 

I 

.ooo 

Gates 


0 

I.OOO 

Fairview . . . 

. . 0 

I 

.ooo 


8o 


THE FIELD HOUSE 


“Gosh!’’ said Yost over his shoulder. “You put 
us last and we’re tied with Pompton.” 

“We belong in last place,” Buddy answered. 
“Aren’t we the school that’s up against it from the 
start?” 

Yost flushed. 

“I’m making a change,” Buddy went on. “I’m 
moving Neale to first base.” 

“Are you putting me on second?” Yost de- 
manded. “I never played that bag.” 

“I’m putting Ahrens on second,” the captain an- 
swered. 

“Oh 1” Yost realized that he was being benched. 
Slowly he turned and walked away. 

At noon, when Buddy came from classes, Schuy- 
ler was waiting for him. 

“Yost has been talking to me,” the pitcher began 
blandly. “He feels pretty badly about being 
dropped.” 

“I feel badly, too,” Buddy answered. “Yost 
and I have been friends. We’ve played together. 
I like him.” 

“Then why did you drop him ?” 

“I had to.” 

“Because he doesn’t think Carrots is ” 

“No,” said Buddy; “because he lost his nerve 
and began to whine about schools with paid 
coaches.” 

“H’m!” Schuyler said thoughtfully. He stole a 

8i 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


quick glance at Buddy and looked away. When 
he came to his corner he said good-by and hur- 
ried up the street. 

‘T wonder/’ Buddy muttered, ‘‘what he thought 
of that.” 

When the captain came back to school he found 
that the news of Yost’s punishment had spread. 
The reason for it, however, was a mystery. Evi- 
dently Schuyler had kept that much to himself. 

Buddy went his way unruffled. The clamor of 
the students did not disturb him. He had expected 
something like this, for Yost had been first-baseman 
for three years. When boys met him and protested 
that Yost was needed, he smiled. When other boys 
wailed that Ahrens couldn’t hit and that Yost’s bat 
would be missed, Buddy smiled again, grimly. 
Finally the students gave up trying to influence him, 
and tried to question Yost. The ex-first-baseman 
turned away sullenly and would have nothing to 
say. 

When the players came to the field that after- 
noon Buddy called them together. An explanation, 
he felt, was due them ; and besides, there were two 
players in particular whom he wanted to think over 
what he had to say. 

“There are ten schools in the county league,” he 
began. “Six of these schools have paid coaches. I 
don’t want players who figure that those six schools 
have us whipped before the first ball is pitched.” 

82 


THE FIELD HOUSE 


Neale gave a quick, emphatic nod. Schuyler 
looked up at the sky as though there was something 
there that interested him greatly. A faint color 
crept into his cheeks. 

'‘Fairview,’’ Buddy went on, ‘‘has played these 
six schools before. We have always held our own. 
We’re going to hold our own again. The fellows 
who think differently are better off the nine than 
on it. We want fellows who are with Fairview 
from the first inning to the last.” 

Silence. 

“That’s all,” said Buddy. “Now let’s put some 
ginger into the practice. The first game has been 
played and lost. Forget it. Next time we’ll do 
better.” 

The players scattered. The work began. Neale 
was a bit awkward in his new position, and Ahrens 
was nervous. Yet there was a noticeable snap to 
the work. McCarter seemed chastened. Once, when 
the ball was hit to him, he fumbled. Instead of 
taking his time and throwing the ball to the plate 
for another trial, he scrambled after the sphere with 
frantic speed and whipped it to first. He could not 
have made the play faster had a runner been tearing 
down the base path. 

“I’ve saved him,” Buddy whispered. “I’ve saved 
him, anyway.” 

Yost, a hard light in his eyes, did the nondescript 
work that falls to the lot of a substitute. He batted 

83 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 

fungoes to the outfielders. When Carlson came in 
to hit them, he played in the outfield a while. After- 
wards, while Arthur Stone pitched to the batters, 
he played the various positions as boys deserted 
their fielding stations and went in to the plate. At 
last it was his turn to hit. He picked up a bat, 
and gripped it with a clutch that whitened his 
knuckles, and drove Arthur’s first pitch screeching 
to the outfield. 

Those students who had come down to watch the 
practice looked at one another uneasily. This was 
the player who had been benched. As against this 
they contrasted the way Ahrens had tapped weakly 
in front of the plate. 

Schuyler smiled as though something amused 
him. When the practice was over he waited for 
Yost. 

‘'Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ll be back there 
if you hit them that way. They’ll have to use 
you.” 

Yost’s lips twitched. “I’ll show them,” he said. 

Carrots had not come to the practice. There 
would be days, of course, when he could not come 
— days when he would be delayed on his route or 
would have to go out into the country to see farm- 
ers about supplies. Yet, for all that. Buddy was 
uneasy. He had figured that Carrots would come 
out to talk about yesterday’s defeat and about Schuy- 
ler’s showing. 


84 


THE FIELD HOUSE 


Arriving home from the practice, Buddy went 
up to his room and again read the note Carrots 
had written. 

‘‘We couldn't have a better coach," he said aloud. 
“Carrots knows things.” 

Sitting there, with the note in his hands, his 
courage grew stronger. With Carrots at his back 
he felt equal to the task of piloting the nine to vic- 
tory. Carrots would be a rock wall of strength. 
The magic of Carrots’s knowledge would smooth 
away their troubles. What difference did one de- 
feat make with Carrots to help him ? Anyway, they 
might not have had that one defeat if Schuyler had 
listened to Carrots’s advice. 

Next day Buddy went to the field hoping that 
Carrots would come early. The minutes passed, and 
the coach did not appear. Finally Schuyler hinted 
that if the pitchers were not going to warm up he 
would like to go home. At that Buddy donned his 
mitt and told Schuyler and Arthur to get ready. 

Before a ball could be thrown Carrots made his 
appearance. Buddy called a halt. Schuyler, with 
his arm drawn back to throw, gave a grunt of im- 
patience. 

“I suppose we’ll be kept here another half-hour,” 
he complained. 

“I imagine Buddy knows what he’s about,” Ar- 
thur answered tartly. 

However, there was no half-hour wait. Buddy 

85 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


explained hurriedly that he wanted to pitch Arthur 
on the morrow. Carrots nodded and said he’d 
watch him. The captain went back to his place 
and the pitching began. 

Ordinarily Carrots went about with a laugh and 
a merry quip. Today he was thoughtful and silent. 
Not once did he speak to Schuyler; and on those 
few occasions when he spoke to Arthur, his re- 
marks were short and to the point. 

Buddy wondered what could be the matter. As 
soon as the last ball had been thrown he hurried 
to the coach. 

“How is he, Carrots?” 

“You can use him tomorrow. His wrist is a bit 
tender, but he’ll do. Don’t call for his drop too 
often.” 

Buddy gave a quick nod. Here was one relief. 
He did not have to depend on Schuyler for the 
second game. 

“I suppose you know how we made out at Saddle 
River?” he asked. 

Carrots nodded. “Schuyler couldn’t last with 
that delivery. He puts a lot of speed into it, and it’s 
all arm work. The arm muscles get all the strain. 
They were bound to get tired.” 

“The paid coach at Irontown didn’t see that,” 
Buddy said loyally. 

Carrots smiled. “That paid coach has his hands 
full. He has to coach football, baseball, basket 
86 


THE FIELD HOUSE 


ball, and track. He can’t know everything about 
everything. I wouldn’t know how to coach track or 
basket ball.” 

^‘You can coach baseball, though. Carrots.” 
know baseball,” Carrots said simply. 

Oh, yes ; Carrots knew baseball. Buddy thought 
that he was mighty lucky to have such powerful 
aid. 

“We play home tomorrow,” he said. “Could 


Carrots shook his head. 

Buddy’s face fell. “Gosh, Carrots, I hoped you’d 
be able to help us with this game.” 

“I can’t do that. Bud. I’m quitting.” 

“Quitting?” The captain stared at him. “Quit- 
ting what?” 

“As coach,” Carrots answered. 

Buddy’s heart flopped down into his shoes. 
Schuyler refusing to take advice, Yost out of the 
game — and now this. 

“I know what happened in the Saddle River dress- 
ing-room,” Carrots went on. “This fellow Schuy- 
ler has a big head. Do you think if I had a job as 
teacher and wore swell clothes he’d turn up his 
nose at my coaching?” 

“He hasn’t done that. Carrots,” Buddy argued 
weakly. “The only thing he said to me was that 
the Irontown coach had taught him his delivery.” 

“He said more than that to somebody,” Carrots 

87 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


insisted. ‘‘Do you think Yost would take a crack 
at me if somebody didn’t put it into his head?” 

Buddy was silent. What was there to say? 

“I’m sorry, Bud.” Carrots held out his hand. 
“I hope you clean up. But I can’t stay around here. 
I’d be chasing that fellow Schuyler off the lot in 
jig time. Then where would you be?” 

“Just where I am now,” Buddy said miserably. 
“In the soup.” He shook hands with Carrots and 
turned away. He did not want the huckster boy to 
see that his eyes were blinking. 

Slowly, as he walked home, his fists clenched. 

If he had Schuyler before him this minute He 

relaxed his hands. This wouldn’t do. Fighting 
wouldn’t help him. He had to go ahead, clear- 
brained, calm. He wasn’t a Fairview captain for 
nothing. The school expected him to grapple with 
difficulties and solve them. But the school was mak- 
ing it very, very hard. 

A block from home he met Wally and Poole. He 
told them that Carrots had quit, and why. 

“Chowder!” cried Wally. “I’d like to twist 
Schuyler’s nose three times around his neck.” 

“This must stop,” said Poole. 

But how it was going to stop Buddy did not 
know. That night, after supper, he told his wretched 
tale to Bob. 

“Let’s see,” Bob said. “Tomorrow you play 
Brunswick. How does she stand ?” 

88 


THE FIELD HOUSE 


“She beat Garrison last Wednesday/’ Buddy an- 
swered. 

“Has she a coach and lockers and all the frills?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then, if you won and if the fellows began to 
say you didn’t need coaches to win — — ” 

“Ah!” Buddy took a deep breath. 

“I wouldn’t count on it too strongly,” Bob 
warned. 

“N-no,” said Buddy. He looked up quickly. 
“But I’m counting, just the same. Gosh, Bob! I’ve 
got to count on something.” 

Next afternoon he led his nine on the field realiz- 
ing that a crisis had come. A second defeat, com- 
ing on top of the first, would surely start a chorus 
of, “What can you do against these schools that 
have all the advantages?” On the other hand, a 
victory might sweep the school about face and re- 
store confidence overnight. 

Buddy saw Yost watching him with a strained 
look on his face. He knew what that look meant. 
Neale was not a master first-baseman. Ahrens 
could not hit. Yost was wondering whether, at 
the show down, he would really be kept out of the 
game. 

In truth. Buddy would have given much to see 
Neale back on second and Yost back on first. But 
he had gone too far to turn back now. Come what 
might, the lesson had to sink in — into Yost, into 
89 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


Schuyler, into the nine. When the infield lined up 
for its fifteen minutes of practice before the game, 
the captain saw a look of astonishment come to 
Schuyler, and a look of gloom to Yost. 

‘‘I guess they know now that I mean it,’^ the cap- 
tain muttered. But it was hard to play Ahrens. 
He wanted that game so badly. 

When he warmed up Arthur Stone his heart was 
in his throat. But as Arthur, cool, self-possessed, 
began to use his curves, the captain’s pulse became 
calm. If Arthur would pitch like that in the 
game 

Arthur did. In the first inning he was good ; in 
the second inning he was better; and after that he 
kept improving right along. Brunswick could do 
nothing with his delivery. When the sixth inning 
closed, three dots in Wally Hamilton’s score-book 
showed that she had acquired but three hits. Not 
one of her players had reached second base. 

And while Brunswick struggled in vain. Fair- 
view pounded the ball hard enough to do damage. 
A home run from Neale’s bat in the third inning 
brought one run. In the fifth, with two runners 
on the bases, Ahrens created a sensation by ramming 
out a double. Both runners scored. 

. '‘Come on,” yelled the Brunswick coaches when 
the seventh inning started. "She blows up in the 
seventh and eighth.” 

Schuyler, watching the game, flushed. 

90 


THE FIELD HOUSE 


But Arthur did not blow up. Three boys faced 
him in the seventh, four in the eighth, and only three 
in the ninth. He had pitched shut-out ball. 

The victory seemed to go to Neale’s head. He 
threw his glove into the air and turned a handspring. 
Next he ran to Schuyler and caught him by the 
arm. 

‘‘How about it, Schuyler?” he demanded. “We’re 
not so bad for coachless wonders, are we?” 

“No,” said Schuyler; “not so bad.” He jerked 
his arm away and hurried from the field. 

But the players and the students had taken up 
Neale’s cry. The Coachless Wonders! Brunswick 
had come with her coach and had been licked. ’Rah 
for the Coachless Wonders ! What was the matter 
with Fairview? She was all right. 

Neale caught Buddy’s eye and winked. For a 
moment the captain stared. Then, as it dawned on 
him that Neale was deliberately trying to create 
sentiment, he suddenly plunged into the crowd. 
What Bob had said was coming true. He signaled 
to Poole, and the president of the A. A. followed 
him into a side street. 

“Come on,” the captain said breathlessly. “I 
want to get the scores of the other games. Hear 
Neale back there? He’s doing that deliberately. 
I want to have something that will help him first 
thing in the morning.” 

“How?” Poole asked, puzzled. 

91 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


‘‘By posting a new standing of clubs. Don’t you 
see it? I put Fairview last after the first game. 
Nqw she’s won. The chances are that some teams 
that lost Wednesday lost again today. We’ll go 
up. Suppose, instead of being last tomorrow, we’re 
fourth or fifth ” 

“Oh !” said Poole. “I know where we can get a 
telephone.” 

He led the way to the butcher shop where his 
mother bought her meats. From the tradesman’s 
telephone they called the Irontown High School. A 
boy answered the summons. Did he have the re- 
sults of the games? 

“All except Fairview,” he answered. 

“This is Fairview,” said Poole. “We won 3 
to o.” 

“Good for you,” said the Irontown boy. “Just 
a moment, now. Want the scores?” 

“No. We can get those later. Just tell us who 
won.” 

“All right. Irontown beat Gates, Saddle River 
beat Lackawanna, Pompton beat Hasbrouck, and 
Bloomfield beat Garrison. Got it?” 

Poole said he had, and called a “Thank you.” 
Buddy paid the telephone charge. Then, taking 
Poole’s notes, he lost no time in reaching the street. 

“It’s half an hour before supper,” he said. “Come 
around to my house and help me get this ready.” 

Twenty minutes later the table was prepared : 

92 


THE FIELD HOUSE 


W. L. PC. W. L. PC. 

Irontown 2 o i.ooo Bloomfield i i .500 

Saddle River.. 2 o i.ooo Gates i i ^500 

Fairview i i .500 Pompton i i .500 

Brunswick .... i i .500 Hasbrouck ... o 2 .^000 

Lackawanna .. i i .500 Garrison o 2 .000 

‘^Fairview in third place,” cried Poole. “Thun- 
der, Buddy! This ought to keep the pot boiling.” 

Buddy thought so, too. In fact, deep down in 
his heart he had a suspicion that the tide had 
turned. 

Early next morning he posted the standing of 
the clubs. Boys surrounded it and talked excitedly. 
Irontown and Saddle River were only one game 
ahead. 

“Not so bad for the Coachless Wonders,” said 
Neale. 

Buddy, for the first time in weeks, felt satisfied. 
Even without Carrots it might be possible to make 
a showing. But his joy was short-lived. Poole, 
who had been watching something out on the school 
grounds, followed him into the hall. 

“What’s Schuyler up to?” the president of the 
A. A. asked. “He’s out there talking to Yost and 
Pilgrim. There’s something in the wind.” 

“Can’t he talk to them?” Buddy demanded. 

“Yes; but he’s showing them a paper secretly 
You know, Schuyler doesn’t like this Coachless 
Wonder stuff. It makes him look cheap. It robs 
93 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


him of a chance to make excuses for his defeat. If 
Art can win, the fellows will soon be asking why 
can’t he win.” 

It seemed to Buddy that Poole was borrowing 
trouble. How could Schuyler detract from a vic- 
tory? And yet, for all of that, sharp anxiety took 
the place of the satisfaction he had felt. What was 
the paper that Schuyler had shown ? 

At noon he knew. It was tacked to the bulletin 
board directly under the standing of the clubs : 

We, the undersigned, members of the Fairview High 
School Athletic Association, hereby call a special meeting 
for this afternoon immediately after classes. 

Schuyler Arch, 
Charles Pilgrim, 
Alfred Yost. 

That was as far as Buddy read. Those first three 
names seemed to spell trouble. He found Poole, 
but the president of the A. A. had not the least 
idea what the call meant. 

When Buddy returned to school after dinner the 
situation was unchanged. Only Schuyler and a few 
of his friends knew what was in the wind, and 
they were silent and secretive. 

Buddy had an inclination to ask Schuyler what 
it meant. Poole advised against it. 

‘Tt’s the first time the reason for a special meet- 
ing has ever been kept secret,” Buddy argued fret- 
94 


THE FIELD HOUSE 


fully. ‘WeVe just won a game. We’ve just found 
our feet. If anything starts now ” 

‘'Wait until it starts,” said Poole. 

When classes were dismissed that afternoon the 
students crowded into the assembly hall of the 
school. Presently Schuyler came in and took a 
seat well down in front. Poole arose and rapped 
the meeting to order. 

“We are ready to transact business,” he an- 
nounced. 

Buddy watched to see who would explain, the 
call for the meeting. It was Schuyler who arose. 
The captain’s heart gave a quick, heavy beat. 

“I am a Fairview fellow,” said the pitcher, “and 
I want to see Fairview have what other schools 
have. You know how things are. Fellows don’t 
want to play ball in their good clothes. When 
classes are dismissed they run home, and get into 
uniform, and come back to the field — and some- 
times there’s something to do at home and they don’t 
come back. That isn’t the way a school team should 
be. The players ought to have a place for dress- 
ing, a place where they could keep their things, a 
place with school flags and all that. They ought 
to have a place that means Fairview to them every 
time they see it.” 

The assembly room had grown quiet. Buddy 
held his breath. 

“It’s the school that has things,” Schuyler con- 

95 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 

tinned, ‘‘that amounts to the most and has the most 
fun. You saw the standing of the clubs. It’s posted 
on the bulletin board. Two teams are tied for first 
place. They haven’t lost a game. Each of those 
teams has a locker-room and a gym and all that 
goes with it.” 

“So has Brunswick,” said Neale. 

Poole pounded his gavel. There were cries of 
“Silence!” “Schuyler has the floor,” and of “Let 
him speak.” 

“Neale thinks I’m knocking Fairview,” Schuy- 
ler went on. “I’m not. If you haven’t got what 
you want, I don’t believe in folding your hands 
and letting it go at that I Relieve in getting things. 
A field house would be fine for the players. It 
would be a place for them to keep their uniforms, 
a place to dress. There’s no reason why we can’t 
have a field house if the A. A. says yes.” 

“Who’ll get it for us?” a voice demanded. 

“I will,” said Schuyler. “My father is superin- 
tendent at the iron works. They have a shack about 
twelve by fifteen feet. It has no foundation — 
just a pine floor laid over the ground. There’s no 
further need of it at the foundry, and my father 
said we could have it. We can move it down to 
the field and use it for a field house.” 

A babble of talk swept the floor. The imagina- 
tions of the students had been touched. 

Buddy felt lost. He did not know what to do. 

96 


iwiinmniiiMii iiiiiliiiy niiiilwii 


% 



V 




I’m a Fairview fellow, . . . and I want to see Fairview have what other schools have. 











THE FIELD HOUSE 


Neale looked at him questioningly. Wally hurried 
over and sat beside him. 

‘‘This is dynamite/’ Wally panted. 

Poole banged his gavel and brought order. A 
student moved that Schuyler’s offer be accepted with 
thanks. Wally jumped to his feet. He did not 
know what he was going to do, but he was resolved 
to delay action as long as possible. 

“Won’t we have to get permission to put it on 
the field?” he demanded. 

“I have permission,” said Schuyler smoothly. 

“How much will it cost to move the shack?” 

Schuyler smiled. “Nothing. The fellows can 
lift it on to one of my father’s flat trucks.” 

Cheers sounded from all parts of the assembly 
room. 

Wally swallowed hard. He was, apparently, mak- 
ing Schuyler’s position all the stronger. While he 
hesitated, wondering what next to say, Neale’s 
voice broke in. 

“I don’t see the need of all this hurry,” Neale 
said. 

Wally had his cue. He moved that the matter 
be left open until tomorrow. While Schuyler 
glared, he argued that the shack ought to be in- 
spected. There wasn’t much money in the A. A. 
treasury, and maybe the roof would be leaky. A 
committee ought to make an inspection. 

“That’s fair,” said Neale. 

97 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


*‘Oh, all right/' said Schuyler. ‘‘Look at it if 
you want to.” 

There was another cheer. Poole appointed the 
committee, naming Wally as chairman. 

It was a sorry lot of ball players that Buddy 
commanded that afternoon. Boys who had thus 
far fought shy of Schuyler’s ideas now began to 
show interest. What would a field house look like ? 
How would it be fixed up inside ? 

Buddy cut the practice short. He had seen Wally 
and Poole waiting, and he knew that the committee 
had finished its inspection. He hurried from the 
field and joined his friends. 

“They’ll take it,” Wally reported gloomily. 
“They’re wild for it.” 

Buddy did not ask how the fie^d house looked. 
He did not care. Yesterday the nine had beaten 
Brunswick. The cry of Coachless Wonders had 
seemingly stifled all dissatisfaction and discourage- 
ment. The standing of the clubs, with Fairview 
in third place, had been hailed with enthusiasm. 
And now, a few hours later, everything was topsy- 
turvy again. 

Had the field house come to the school in an 
everyday sort of way. Buddy would have wel- 
comed it. He knew that it would save time and 
thus make possible a longej practice period. But 
he knew, too, that it would not come in an every- 
day sort of way. Schuyler would color the trans- 
98 


THE FIELD HOUSE 


action. His talk in the assembly room had shown 
that. He would create the bubbling impression 
that Fairview had taken the first step, and that lock- 
ers and a gym and showers ought to follow. The 
school would once more be off in full cry for some- 
thing that they could not have. The dissatisfac- 
tion would return. 

‘Hook here!’’ cried Poole, “why can’t we tell 
the meeting tomorrow ” 

“We can’t,” said Buddy. “The school wants this 
field house. As a field house it’s all right. It’s 
what that field house stands for that is going to 
do the damage.” 

“Couldn’t you tell them that?” Wally asked. 

The captain shook his head. “They wouldn’t un- 
derstand. Besides! '^did you hear what Schuyler 
said about the two teams that lead — ^that they have 
locker-rooms and all the advantages? How are 
we going to explain that?” 

“Schuyler is shrewd,” said Poole. 

“Yes,” said Buddy. His eyes grew hard. “If 
I thought he sprang this field house just to have 

an alibi when he loses games ” The captain 

paused. “I can’t believe that. It’s just that he’s 
bug on having things on a grand scale. He doesn’t 
stop to think how he may be hurting the 
school.” 

“Well,” Wally demanded, “why don’t you take 
him aside and tell him.” 


99 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


‘‘That wouldn’t do any good, either,” Buddy 
sighed. “He believes in going out and getting 
things. That’s what he said. That’s what he’d 
tell me.” 

There was a long interval of silence. Each of the 
three boys was busy with his own thoughts. 

“Believe me,” said Wally, “we’re up against it. 
Things were bad enough when Schuyler was only 
talking, but now that he’s getting away with some- 
thing Good night.” 

“I’d like to drop him down a sewer,” Poole said 
vindictively. “He comes here with his airs, and his 
swagger, and his big talk, and he turns our peaceful 
little school into a revolution.” 

It was the first time that Buddy had ever seen 
Poole go off the handle like this. He walked home 
depressed and gloomy. Oh, what wouldn’t he give 
for Carrots’s advice now ! 

In the morning, after a night’s sleep, he felt 
better. The school had squeezed its way out of 
other troubles. Perhaps she would squeeze out of 
this. Besides, all was not lost. Of course, there 
was a big chance that the school would go crazy 
over the field house and be swept with a frenzy of 
bravado. On the other hand, the fellows might 
learn that a field house was merely a field house, 
just as a classroom was merely a classroom. 

That afternoon, when the A. A. met again, the 
committee reported. Boys cried out that no school 

lOO 


THE FIELD HOUSE 


was going to have anything on Fairview. A voice 
moved that the house be accepted. 

Neale stood up and looked at Buddy. When the 
captain made no sign, he sat down, disappointed. 

‘^All in favor say aye,’’ Poole ordered. 

The ayes arose in a shout. 

Buddy had taken a seat back near the door. The 
moment the vote was over he left the room. The 
die was cast. For good or for evil, Fairview had 
chosen her road. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE FIRST BREAK 

T he practice, that day, lasted until a flat truck 
came down the road surrounded by cheering 
boys. Then baseball stopped. Players stuffed 
gloves into their pockets and ran to meet the ve- 
hicle. Even Neale, moved by a spirit of curiosity, 
joined in the rush. 

Resting on the truck was a roughly-built shack. 
The door was locked. There was a window on 
either side and one in the back. The players de- 
manded to know how it looked inside and craned 
their necks to see in through the glass. But the 
glass was thick with dirt and they could see noth- 
ing. 

Schuyler took charge of the arrangements. 
‘‘Right here, John,” he said, with an air of im- 
portance. 

“Yes, sor,” said the driver. “Whoal” 

The horses stopped. 

“Now then, fellows,” Schuyler demanded, “where 
shall we put it?” 

At that there was a shout for Buddy. The cap- 
102 


THE FIRST BREAK 


tain approached slowly. He would like to have 
welcomed that field house with a can of oil and a 
match, but prudence dictated that he make a show 
of interest. 

“We want to get it where foul balls won’t smash 
the windows,” he said. 

Schuyler agreed. After much discussion a site 
was selected. 

“Get at it, fellows!” Schuyler called. “Lend a 
hand, John!” 

The driver got down from his seat. The shack 
was worked toward the rear of the truck. Thirty 
boys caught it, lifted it, swung it clear. Then, halt- 
ingly, heavily, they carried it in from the road, and 
eased it down on the ground. 

“Is that all, sor?” said the driver. 

Schuyler said that it was. From his pocket he 
took a key and approached the door. A moment 
later the entrance was wide open, and Schuyler 
was waving an inviting hand. 

“This way, fellows,” he said. 

They crowded in. Twelve hooks were set in each 
wall at intervals. 

“Those hooks weren’t there yesterday,” said a 
voice. 

“I had them put up,” said Schuyler. “Every 
player gets a number, and the hook that corre- 
sponds to that number is his.” 

There was a murmur of admiration. 

103 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


Schuyler swelled visibly. ''Of course/’ he said, 
don’t want to dictate, but we play a game to- 
morrow and we ought to have things in shape. 
Those windows need cleaning, the floor must be 
swept, and we ought to have some old chairs here 
for the fellows to sit on. Then some school 
flags What is the Fairview color?” 

‘That’s a nice question,” said Neale. 

“Blue and white,” said another voice. “Go on, 
Schuyler. What about it?” 

“Why,” said Schuyler, giving Neale a superior 
smile, “we ought to nail up school flags and bunt- 
ing. We want the place to look classy. Who’ll 
volunteer to clean up?” 

There was a roar of “I will.” Neale scowled, 
and swung around, and stalked out. Soon Buddy 
followed. 

The captain walked down the road with his head 
bent thoughtfully. At the A. A. meeting Schuyler 
had said that he was a Fairview fellow. Yet, a 
moment ago, he had asked what Fairview’s colors 
were. And he was beginning to puff out his chest 
and lord it. 

Buddy sighed. The future looked none too 
bright. He heard the sound of running feet and 
looked back. Neale was hurrying to overtake 
him. 

“What do you think of that?” Neale asked, mo- 
tioning back toward the field house. 

104 


THE FIRST BREAK 


Buddy hesitated. Was it wise to tell a member 
of the nine how he felt, even though he be a 
friend? 

‘‘All right,'' said Neale. “I know. You're cap- 
tain. You have to swallow a lot of things to keep 
peace. But let me tell you this: the day you get 
ready to fight, let me know. I'm with you." 

He swung around and walked away. Buddy 
looked after him and shook his head. 

“I’d like to fight and stop it now," he said, “but 
I can't." 

That night he studied the schedule. The mor- 
row's game was with Garrison, and Fairview had 
the advantage of playing on her own field. Thus 
far Garrison had been easy picking. Gates had 
beaten her and so had Bloomfield. If she dis- 
played no more vim tomorrow than she had shown 
in her other engagements, there was no reason why 
the Blue and White should not win. 

But — and there was a big but — how about Schuy- 
ler tiring after seven innings? It was his turn to 
pitch. 

Buddy wanted that game. Another victory would 
mean just that much more confidence. If Fair- 
view won, and if either Irontown or Saddle River 
lost, the team would be tied with one of the lead- 
ers. On the other hand, a defeat would send the 
team down in the league standing. 

The more Buddy thought of it, the more impera- 

105 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


tive it seemed that that game be won. He folded 
the schedule, and put it in his pocket, and sat in 
thought for a long time. 

'Til use Arthur,” he said at last. 'T can’t take 
a chance on Schuyler now.” After a moment he 
added : 'T hope he doesn’t get sore.” 

At that very moment Schuyler was directing the 
finishing touches at the field house and telling him- 
self that tomorrow he would enter it wearing a 
crown of victory. Yost had brought an aban- 
doned hanging lamp, a dozen boys had discovered 
forgotten chairs and benches in their attics, and 
there had been a perfect flood of flags and bunt- 
ing. When the last Blue and White banner was 
tacked into place, the boys stepped back to view the 
result. 

The place had been transformed. The windows 
had been cleaned, the floor had been soused with 
countless buckets of water, and the walls had been 
wiped down. The flags and bunting stood out gayly. 
Only the empty hooks seemed to hint that some- 
thing was lacking. 

Schuyler, while the boys watched, took a satchel 
from under a chair. He opened it, took out his 
uniform, and hung the clothing on a hook. 

" ’Rah for Schuyler !” yelled a boy. 

Schuyler laughed and colored, and pretended to 
make light of the cheer. But all the way home his 
blood tingled. Buddy Jones might be the captain 
io6 


THE FIRST BREAK' 


of the nine, but today’s doings had made him a 
school leader. He had four years to spend at Fair- 
view, and he did not intend to spend them in a dull, 
drab way. Now that the field house had been se- 
cured, bit by bit he would lead the school on until 
it had all that it now lacked. 

Today he had come into the limelight. Tomor- 
row he would monopolize the glare. It was his turn 
to pitch. Garrison was weak. She had lost two 
games. He ought to be able to win easily. Though 
he had . said nothing to the students, that first de- 
feat rankled. 

Next morning he took a cold bath, and thumped 
and kneaded his right arm until it was a vivid red. 
He had an idea that this would do wonders for his 
pitching muscles. During the course of the day 
he confided to several boys that they’d miss some- 
thing if they did not come to the field that after- 
noon, and when they asked him what he meant, he 
winked knowingly. 

When classes were dismissed that afternoon the 
whole school went down to the field. When the 
Garrison players arrived, there were cries of 
‘‘Hello, Fairview; what are you up to?” “Where 
did you get the field house?” “Some class to this, 
what?” “Better than dressing down in the high 
school basement, eh ?” “Fairview’s getting a wiggle 
on, isn’t she?” 

The- students tried to look as though they were 
107 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


used to all this. Yet, in almost every Fairview 
breast, a proud heart beat. 

Schuyler was in his glory. All this was adding 
tremendously to his prestige. When he beat Garri- 
son, it would surely be the end of a perfect day. 

‘T guess we opened their eyes,'’ he said to Buddy. 

Buddy nodded. There could be no doubt that 
Garrison had been impressed. 

‘"We’ll make a good job of it,” Schuyler added. 
""They won’t get to me the way Saddle River did.” 

Buddy’s eyes narrowed. ""I’m pitching Art,” he 
said. 

Schuyler stared at him a moment and then flung 
his glove on the ground. Stooping suddenly, he 
picked it up and stalked away. Fifteen minutes 
later, when he was called to warm up with Arthur, 
he came to his task sullenly. 

""Favoritism,” he told himself. ""When the weak 
team comes along. Stone is sent in there to make the 
record.” 

As soon as the warm-up was over he walked 
away. The benches had been brought from the 
field house. He sank down on the farthest end. 
This was the thanks he got for giving the school a 
field house and for starting it on the right path. 

His eyes swept the field. Yost, as substitute, was 
taking what crumbs of the practice came his way. 

""More favoritism,” Schuyler grunted. 

When the game started, he hunched his shoulders 
io8 


THE FIRST BREAK 


and stared somberly. Yost walked in and sat be- 
side him. 

*T thought you were going to pitch today, Schuy- 
ler.’’ 

‘‘My eye!” Schuyler snapped. “What can you 
expect when the captain has his friends to take 
care of?” 

Yost gave him a startled glance. 

The first inning is always a trying one, for the 
pitcher has had no chance to warm to his task. To- 
day, Arthur ran into trouble with the first pitched 
ball, and after that the trouble kept growing. Two 
singles, a base on balls, an error by Ahrens and 
two outfield flies did the damage. Three runs 
were scored before the last out. 

Arthur came to the bench looking worried. The 
players chirped encouragingly and told him that 
Garrison wouldn’t get another run. Of all the Fair- 
view boys Schuyler alone was silent. He stared at 
the ground and told himself under his breath that 
it served them right. 

Buddy lashed his players to the attack. Garri- 
son, he told them, was easy. Gates had routed her 
and so had Bloomfield. They could do it, too. 
Come on, everybody ; get into the game. 

For five innings, however, it looked as though 
Garrison was going to withstand all assaults. Twice, 
once in the second inning and again in the fifth, 
Fairview had had chances. But each time it was 
109 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


Ahrens who had come to bat in the pinch, and each 
time Ahrens had been unequal to the task. Yost 
came to the bench from the coaching box and hung 
his head. 

And then, in the sixth inning, just as Buddy’s 
lips were beginning to twitch anxiously, the break 
came. McCarter, first up, was hit with the ball. 
Neale walked to the plate swinging a big, black bat. 

Yost, from the first-base coaching box, tried to 
talk to both Neale and McCarter at once. 

‘Take a lead,” he yelled. “A little farther. 
Look out! Pickle it, Neale; pickle it! Watch his 
arm, Mac; watch his arm! NowT 

The pitcher hurled the ball. Neale’s bat crashed 
into the white sphere. Leftfielder and centerfielder 
began to run back. 

When the shrieking and the cheering died down, 
McCarter was over the plate and Neale was resting 
on third. Yost, in the coaching box, showed that 
it was possible for a perfectly healthy boy to throw 
a dozen fits a minute. 

Four more hits in a row finished the Garrison 
pitcher. By that time five runs were in and the 
game was safely tucked away in Fairview’s bat bag. 

“When I’m three runs behind I bet they won’t 
hit in runs for me,” Schuyler scowled. He was sour 
and glum. The record now was Arthur Stone two 
games won — Schuyler Arch one game lost. 

The final score was Fairview, 8; Garrison, 5. 
no 


THE FIRST BREAK 


Arthur had eased up in the last inning and Garrison 
had scored twice. 

As soon as the umpire called the last out, Schuy- 
ler jumped up from the bench, strode to the field 
house and yanked off his uniform. The after-talk 
of the game did not interest him. He started out 
alone; then, seeing that Yost was almost dressed, he 
waited. 

Presently he and Yost were out in the road. 
Schuyler wrenched angrily at his tie as though he 
could not get it to fit satisfactorily about his neck. 

‘‘Well,’’ he said, “I see friend Arthur got away 
with it, thanks to luck.’’ 

Yost said nothing. 

‘T’m not getting a square deal,” Schuyler burst 
out. ^This was my game. Do you know why I 
didn’t pitch?” 

Yost shook his head. 

‘‘Because Garrison was easy. It was a chance for 
Arthur to boost his record.” 

“Gee!” said Yost. “I’d take it as an honor if 
I were a pitcher and they saved me for the hard 
games.” 

This was a new way of looking at the matter, 
and it didn’t please Schuyler at all. He wasn’t 
after that type of glory. He wanted individual 
honor. What credit could you get pitching the hard 
games for a team that would probably lose its hard 
games ? He continued to complain ; but after a time, 

III 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


seeing that Yost was paying no attention, he be- 
came silent and his face took on a look of offended 
reproach. 

In truth, Yost had begun to think. Today had 
opened his eyes. He knew what it must have cost 
Buddy to see Ahrens failing when runs were needed. 
And yet, Ahrens would probably be kept in the 
game throughout the season. Yost bit his lips, and 
glanced at Schuyler. The pitcher caught his eye. 

“Favoritism,” he exploded. “I suppose Jones will 
be telling the school that Arthur is the only pitcher 
he can depend on.” 

“Well,” said Yost, “Art has won two games.” 

“Why shouldn't he?” Schuyler cried excitedly. 
“If somebody picked all the soft places for me ” 

“Oh, bunk,” Yost said wearily. “Tell it to the 
marines.” 

Schuyler gave a horrified gasp. “W-what's 
that ?” 

“It isn’t so,” said Yost, “and you know it.” 

Schuyler was stunned. Could this be the disciple 
who had accepted his theories with respect to paid 
coaches and field houses ? Could this be the fellow 
who had been benched, thrown out of the game, 
discarded ? 

“My eye!” Schuyler managed to say. “You’ve 
changed your tune. How about the square deal 
you got?” 

“I got what I deserved.” 


II2 


THE FIRST BREAK 


“What?’’ 

“You heard me. If I were captain and a player 
laid down on me. I’d can him. I laid down — in 
thought, anyway. I got what was coming to me. 
Good night.” 

Schuyler’s feet automatically led him around a 
corner. He was scarcely conscious that the former 
first-baseman had left him. When he came to his 
house he sat on the porch steps. Had Neale taken 
a savage crack at him he would have passed it off 
with a shrug of the shoulders. He did not think 
that Neale liked him, and from Neale occasional 
harsh words were to be expected. But to have 
Yost kick his shins He shook his head help- 

lessly. 

It was not until after supper that his depres- 
sion passed. Then his thoughts became tinged with 
alarm. Yost had been one of his earliest converts. 
If they should split now, the school would ask 
questions. And he had no longing to have the 
school know that he and Yost had quarreled on a 
question of Buddy’s square dealing. 

Next morning he hunted up Yost to make his 
peace. The first-baseman, after a few words, made 
an excuse and got away. Schuyler’s face went 
red. 

Buddy, walking toward the school entrance with 
a paper under his arm, saw Yost turn away. Then 
he saw the red in Schuyler’s cheeks. A quick throb 

113 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


of hope ran through him. Instantly he strangled 
it. He refused to build air castles — yet. Yost on 
the outs with Schuyler was one thing. Yost offer- 
ing the kind of game that Fairview demanded was 
another matter entirely. And besides, they might 
not be on the outs at all. 

The captain tacked the paper to the bulletin board. 
It was the standing of the teams after the third 
set of games: 

W. L. PC. 

I route wn 3 0 i.ooo Brunswick 

Saddle River.. 3 o i.ooo Gates 

Fairview 2 i .666 Bloomfield 

Lackawanna ..2 i .666 Hasbrouck 

Pompton 2 I .666 Garrison . 

There was a noisy outburst of talk : 

‘‘Oh, shucks ! Irontown beat Hasbrouck and Sad- 
dle River beat Brunswick.’^ 

“Well, we won, too, didn’t we?” 

“Yes; but we’ve got to do better than hang on 
when they’re ahead.” 

Buddy turned away. He didn’t like that last 
remark. And then a voice halted him : 

“We’ll hang on until they tire, and then we’ll 
go ahead.” 

It was Yost who had spoken. Buddy walked 
thoughtfully to his classroom. 

For the rest of the day he kept his eyes open. He 


W. L. PC. 

I 2 .333 

I 2 .333 

I 2 .333 

o 3 .000 

o 3 .000 


THE FIRST BREAK 


soon suspected Yost and Schuyler were no longer 
the friends of old. And he also noticed that when- 
ever a group of boys began to speak of Arthur’s 
two victories Schuyler immediately left the gather- 
ing. 

‘^Jealous,” said Buddy to himself ; ‘'and sore.” 

Schuyler was worse than sore. He was dis- 
gruntled and grouchy. When he came to the field 
house after classes, the place was jammed with 
students all talking at once, and another group was 
clustered about the door. For the most part they 
spoke of Arthur’s pitching. This time Schuyler 
could not flee. He had to stay and listen. 

And, the more praise of Arthur he heard, the 
greater became Schuyler’s choler. Little things an- 
noyed him greatly. He didn’t have room to don his 
uniform in comfort. A boy brushed against his 
hook and knocked his trousers to the floor. At 
other times he would have taken all this with a 
laugh. Now, though, his nerves were tight and his 
temper was raw. What was this, a field house for 
the nine or a meeting place for every Tom, Dick 
and Harry in the school? Why, even at night 
when the lamp was lighted, there would always be 
a gang of students in the chairs and about the 
table. 

The boys began to drift out. Presently the base- 
ball players were alone. Pilgrim fastened his belt 
and prepared to go out. 

115 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


‘‘Lock that door, will you, Pilgrim?’’ Schuyler 
snapped. “From the inside.” 

Players paused in their dressing. 

“I have something to say,” Schuyler told them. 

Had he taken time to think he would never have 
said what was in his mind. He was a boy who 
liked popularity. But being side-tracked yesterday, 
and having broken — almost — with Yost, and then 
hearing about Arthur all day had robbed him of his 
usual discretion. 

“We brought this down here,” he said, “as a 
field house. Instead of that it’s a club. If we, as 
members of the nine, want to talk about signals, 
or secret plays, or anything like that, we have to 
go out in the road to do it. There’s always a crowd 
in here. It isn’t right. This place is ours.” 

There was a silence. 

“Well?” Neale asked. 

“I move we make this place for the nine only,” 
Schuyler went on. “Other schools have places that 
are reserved for the athletes. We ought to have 
one, too.” 

“Why?” Neale asked; “because the other schools 
have it?” 

“No,” Schuyler answered coldly; “because it’s 
our right. Suppose we cooked up a scheme for 
playing any one game. Every fellow in school 
would know about it. And they’d be whispering 
and nudging one another all through the game, and 
ii6 


THE FIRST BREAK 


the other fellows would be wise in no time. I move 
that we make this place for ball players only.’’ 

Buddy’s mind was quick to see the danger. If 
the students were excluded, they would speedily 
charge that the nine was stuck up. Instead of com- 
ing to the games and cheering on the players, they 
would hang back and become indifferent. 

Neale touched his arm. “Hasn’t the A. A. got 
the say about this field house?” the player whis- 
pered. 

Buddy shook his head. School money had not 
paid for it. It belonged to the nine — and the nine 
could make its own rules. 

“But Holy Mackerel!” Neale whispered hoarse- 
ly, “if they pass this ” 

“I know,” said Buddy. He faced the room 
squarely. “Fellows,” he called, “the school will get 
sore if we do this.” 

“They’re Fairview fellows, aren’t they?” Schuy- 
ler demanded. 

Buddy stiffened. “You bet they are.” 

“Then they’ll support the team, won’t they?” 

Buddy felt that he was trapped. What could he 
say ? That they wouldn’t support the team ? That 
would be an attack on the students, and tomorrow 
it would be reported all through the school. 

“Of course,” said Schuyler, “if Jones is ordering 
us not to pass my motion ” 

It was another master stroke. Buddy could not 
117 


JHE COUNTY PENNANT 

afford to play dictator. He stepped back and shook 
his head. 

'Tm with Schuyler/’ said Pilgrim promptly. 

Neale voted no. So did Yost. So did Buddy and 
Ahrens. But the others stood by Schuyler. The 
field house was theirs. 

Pilgrim unlocked the door. The players passed 
out. Schuyler stayed behind and scrawled a few 
words on a sheet of paper. 

The students who lined the field showed a dispo- 
sition to cheer every good play. But of good plays 
there were very few. The practice faltered and 
limped. When it was over the players broke for 
the field house. The students followed. 

They found a paper tacked to the door : 

FOR BALLPLAYERS 
NO OTHERS ADMITTED 

Boy after boy crowded forward and read it. The 
gathering was strangely quiet. One boy tore down 
the paper and stepped into the house. 

‘'Does this go?” he asked. 

The players looked at Schuyler. The pitcher 
wished that somebody else would do the talking. 

‘Tm sorry,” he said, trying to create the impres- 
sion that he was a good fellow and this pained him. 
‘Tt’s been found necessary. Just for the present, 
you know.” 

ii8 


THE FIRST BREAK 


The boy, evidently, cared nothing about necessi- 
ties. He backed out and spoke to his companions. 
The crowd melted away. 

Neale looked at Buddy. The captain forced a 
smile and tried to hide his worry. A new crisis 
had arisen. 

Next day less than a dozen students watched the 
practice. There were no cheers. The boys looked 
on — merely that — and after a while wandered off. 

By this time Schuyler had awakened to the fact 
that he had done a very foolish thing. At school 
boys snickered as he passed. He had found a card 
in his desk with “Stuck-up Lizzie’’ written on it. 
His popularity was rapidly melting away. He was 
no longer the hero who had created a field house. 
He was the fellow who had frozen out the students. 

Schuyler blamed Buddy for his troubles. If 
Buddy had pitched him in his turn there would 
have been no words with Yost, no talk about Ar- 
thur’s two victories, no reason for him to lose his 
temper. He glared across the field house at the 
captain. 

Buddy did not notice the look of hostility. The 
captain had troubles of his own. The school, ap- 
parently, had turned away from the nine. Where 
there had been harmony, there was now dissension 
and a divided house. 

A group of boys paused outside the field house 
and looked in at the open door. 

1 19 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


“Stuck-up Lizzies/^ shouted one. 

They scurried away. They were grammar school 
boys, not high school students. Their cry, never- 
theless, showed in what scant esteem the nine was 
held. Yesterday, cheers. Today, derision. 

The captain was glad that tomorrow’s game, the 
fourth on the schedule, would be played at Lacka- 
wanna. To play at home, with the students feeling 
as they did, would be to invite slaughter. Imagine 
the nine trying to play ball with boys standing 
around and calling them stuck-up Lizzies ! 
Buddy sighed. For all he knew conditions might 
not be a bit better when the next at-home game 
came. 

He had formed the habit of studying the sched- 
ule in his room as though expecting it to tell him 
what was going to happen. Tonight, after supper, 
he studied it again. It seemed to favor Irontown. 
Tomorrow she crossed bats with Bloomfield, and 
Bloomfield, since the season started, had been able 
to beat only Garrison, the tailender. 

Fairview, on the other hand, had a tough oppo- 
nent in Lackawanna. Lackawanna’s pitching was 
only fair, and her fielding was nothing extra. But, 
judging by the games she had already played, she 
could swat the ball to all corners of the lot. 

Buddy blinked his eyes and stared at the wall. 
He was sorry now that he had not sent Schuyler 
against Garrison and saved Arthur for this. He 
120 


THE FIRST BREAK 


could picture Schuyler tiring after six or seven in- 
nings. It wasn’t a pleasant picture. 

"T won’t wait for the runs to come in this time,” 
Buddy vowed. “The minute I see him wilting I’ll 
rush in Arthur.” 

Downstairs the hall bell rang. Buddy heard Bob 
go to the door. There came a murmur of voices. 
Presently Bob climbed the stairs and came into the 
room. 

“Arthur Stone called,” he said. 

Buddy jumped up. “Send him up. Where is 
he?” 

“He couldn’t wait. He had to get home. He 
told me to tell you that he has to help his father 
tack up chicken wire tomorrow. He won’t be able 
to go to the game.” 

Buddy dropped into his chair. Schuyler going to 
pieces in the closing innings — and nobody on the 
bench to stem the tide! 

“Hard luck,” he told himself miserably after Bob 
had gone, “surely likes me.” 

But, though he might waver, the iron in his na- 
ture seemed to strengthen with each new difficulty. 
At present he was planning a way out — a desper- 
ate way out. He would fall back on Ahrens, the 
hopeless. He would warm up Ahrens in the hope 
that he might possibly have something beside his 
glove. If Schuyler went bad, Ahrens could be used 
to try to halt the attack. 

I2I 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


Next day, when the nine left for Fairview, Poole 
and Wally were the only students who went along, 
and Wally had to go because he was official scorer. 
A handful of high school boys had witnessed the 
start, but the usual cheer had not sounded. Only 
one cry came after them and that was ‘‘Stuck-up 
Lizzies!’’ shouted by a grammar school lad who 
danced on one foot and wriggled his fingers de- 
risively. 

The ride to Saddle River had been comparatively 
gay. The ride to Lackawanna was almost gloomy. 
Mr. Davis, the Latin teacher, who was Fairview’s 
official umpire, closed a book and came back to 
where Buddy was seated. 

“There seems to be a coolness, Jones,” he said. 

“Yes, sir,” said Buddy. 

“Has there been any trouble ?” 

“The nine passed a resolution barring students 
from the field house.” 

“Oh!” Mr. Davis took off his glasses, polished 
them, and put them back on his nose. “Did you 
approve of that, Jones?” 

“I ” Buddy looked away. “I back up my 

players,” he said. He did not say that he had 
talked against the resolution; he did not squeal at 
his hard luck. But the teacher, wise in the way of 
boys, understood. 

A broken trace delayed the nine, and it was late 
when they reached Lackawanna. The players ran 
122 


THE FIRST BREAK 


to the Lackawanna gym, dressed, and then hur- 
ried to the field. 

‘‘Ahrens!” Buddy called. 

The second-baseman paused. 

“Warm up with Schuyler.” 

An angry red began at Schuyler’s neck and spread 
up to his forehead. What was Buddy trying to 
do, let everybody know he was expecting another 
seventh inning blow-up? 

Buddy pretended not to see the wrath in Schuy- 
ler’s face. “Yost!” he called. 

The first-baseman darted forward. 

“Play second for a while.” 

Yost turned, slowly. He knew he wasn’t going 
into the game. If he was, he would have played 
first, and Neale would have gone back to 
second. 

Five minutes after that warm-up started. Buddy’s 
plan had been shot to pieces. Ahrens was as wild 
as a Kansas cyclone. To put him in would be mad- 
ness. All the Lackawanna batters would have to 
do would be to pull their hats over their eyes and 
wait for the umpire to tell them to take their 
base. 

“All right, Ahrens,” he called. “Go back to sec- 
ond.” 

A sudden smile lighted Schuyler’s face. He had 
seen Ahrens’ wildness, and now he thought that 
Buddy had sent Ahrens away for fear others would 
123 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


see it, too. His movements became aggravatingly 
careless, and there was a cocksure twist to his shoul- 
ders. 

“Oh, you fool!’" Buddy told himself under his 
breath. “Let^s see how long that swagger will 
last.” 

It lasted for seven innings, during all of which 
time Fairview held the lead. Then, in the eighth 
inning, Schuyler began to wilt. Four hits brought 
three runs, and the lead was gone. 

During the first half of the ninth, Schuyler sat 
on the bench and kept moistening his lips with his 
tongue. If the fellows would tie the score or give 
him a one-run lead, he’d win that game for them. 
He knew he would. Why, it was only 7 to 6. Just 
one little run to tie it up ! 

When Ahrens struck out, he told himself sav- 
agely that they had batted in runs for Arthur. He 
also asked himself hotly why Yost wasn’t in the 
game to help him out. Just at that moment he was 
sorry that he had ever mentioned paid coaches to 
the first-baseman. 

Carlson got his base on balls. Schuyler sat up 
hopefully. Then Linguist hit a two-bagger, and the 
pitcher jumped to his feet with a yell. Linguist 
on second and Carlson on third ! He turned plead- 
ingly to the captain : 

“Hit it. Buddy.” It was the first time he had 
forgotten to call the captain a stiff, formal “Jones.” 

124 


THE FIRST BREAK 


“Bring in those runs and I won’t give them an- 
other hit.” 

Buddy brought in the runs. His line single sailed 
over the shortstop’s frantic fingers. The score was 
Fairview 8; Lackawanna 7. 

Schuyler hoped that there might even be another 
run in store for the Blue and White.* But on his 
own weak splash, Buddy was thrown out at second, 
and Pilgrim fouled to the catcher. 

Schuyler went out to the box with his head held 
high. This was something like it. He’d mow them 
down with that fadeaway. In a few minutes the 
game would be over. 

He wound up and pitched. The batter hammered 
the ball to center for a single. 

Schuyler’s muscles twitched. He nodded to 
Buddy’s signal for a drop and pitched. 

“Ball one!” 

His offering had been wild — so wild that it had 
hit the ground in front of the plate, and the runner 
had dashed to second. Schuyler set his cap, and 
hitched his trousers. This would never do. He’d 
have to fall back on his fadeaway. Of course, now 
and then a batter would hit that delivery by acci- 
dent, but 

But there was no accident about the way this par- 
ticular Lackawanna batter hit it. He drove a rous- 
ing liner past McCarter, and the tying run was in. 
Pilgrim, with no chance to stop a score, made a 

125 


,THE COUNTY PENNANT 


useless throw to the plate, and the runner scooted 
from first to second. 

‘‘What’s the matter with that pitcher?” he asked 
Ahrens. “He blew up that way at Saddle River, 
they tell me.” 

Ahrens didn’t know. 

Nor did Schuyler. His nerve was gone. Beads 
of sweat stood out on his forehead. The palm of 
his hand and his fingers were damp. He caught 
Buddy’s signal, and threw, and plunked the ball 
into the batter’s ribs. 

The Lackawanna rooters screeched joyfully. 
Buddy walked down with the ball. Schuyler 
scarcely heard the encouraging words the captain 
spoke. His arm was so tired \ 

Back to the mound he went. Suddenly, as he 
looked at the batter, he knew that he was beaten. 
He tried to pitch with some of the skill that had 
been his in the early innings. The bat swung out. 

He turned his head to watch the flight of the 
ball. It struck in front of Carlson, a clean, sure hit. 
Schuyler took off his glove and walked from the 
field. The game was gone. 

Not for a moment did he think of the team. His 
thoughts were all of himself. He had lost. His 
record was bad. 

Behind the plate, Buddy took off his mask and 
his chest protector. He was weary, weary, weary. 
If Schuyler had taken Carrots’s advice, if he had 
126 


THE FIRST BREAK 


learned to save his arm, Fairview might now have 
four games won and no games lost. She would be 
with the leaders. Instead, she was back in the ruck 
again. This morning she had been tied for third 
place. This defeat would probably set her back sev- 
eral notches. 

During the ride home the captain sat next to 
Poole and Wally, but had very little to say. He 
watched the players. They were listless. This thing 
of Schuyler losing out at the end of games that 
seemed won was getting on their nerves. It was 
something they did not understand. And because 
it was full of dark mystery, it filled them with fear. 
Would Schuyler keep on blowing up like that? They 
looked at Schuyler with the question in their eyes, 
and Schuyler turned his head away and pretended 
to be interested in the passing scenery. 

Buddy stirred and sighed. Poole bent his head. 

“Speaking to me. Buddy?’’ 

“No; I was thinking.” 

Poole gave a significant nod. “Schuyler’s think- 
ing, too.” 

“Sure he is,” said Wally; “about himself.” 

Buddy said nothing. What was the use of discus- 
sing Schuyler ? There were weightier matters. The 
nine was going back beaten, discouraged. If the 
school would slap it on the back, and tell it to cheer 

up But the school, in all probability, wouldn’t 

do anything of the kind. 

127 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


The stage rolled into Fairview and stopped at 
the post office. The players swung to the ground. 
Not a student was there to ask them how they had 
fared. 

In a straggling line they walked up Main street. 
Two boys came out of a grocery store carrying 
parcels. 

‘'Who won?’’ they asked. 

"They did,” said Pilgrim. 

The boys grinned. When the players had almost 
reached the next corner they broke into a shrill cry : 

"Y-a-h! Stuck-up Lizzies!” 

Buddy smiled grimly. Fine welcome to give a 
team that needed nothing so much as a few words 
of good cheer. 

"As a proposer of resolutions,” Neale’s voice said 
distinctly, "Schuyler is one prize lemon.” 

Buddy waited for the storm to break. But for 
once, Schuyler had no reply ready. 

After supper Buddy went out to see how the other 
teams in the league had fared. He telephoned to 
the Irontown High School hoping that somebody 
would be in the gym. Central reported that there 
was no answer. 

He wandered aimlessly, and at last his steps led 
him toward the village field. The lamp in the field 
house was lighted. Every now and then, across the 
windows, black shadows moved. 

Buddy stopped short. That shack, looking so 
128 


THE FIRST BREAK 


peaceful in the quiet spring evening, was responsible 
for two-thirds of the worries that harassed him to- 
night. If the students had not been excluded, they 
would have been down at the post office tonight 
waiting to welcome the nine home. 

If that resolution could be rescinded Buddy 

shook his head. No chance of that while the play- 
ers were willing to follow Schuyler’s lead. 

A form loomed up in the darkness. Buddy spoke. 

‘'That you, Pilgrim?” 

“Yes.” The outfielder halted. “How did the 
other teams make out?” 

“I won’t know until tomorrow.” 

Pilgrim whistled under his breath. A shadow 
fell across the window and stayed there. They 
knew those shoulders. Schuyler’s. 

“Going to the field house?” Buddy asked. 

“No,” Pilgrim said slowly. “I — Pm not stuck 
on it any more.” 

“No ?” Buddy tried to keep his voice steady. 

“No. I can’t play checkers with Smithy because 
he can’t come there any more. And Reynolds can’t 
come in with the puzzles he clips from newspapers 
and magazines. If I go to the field house there’s 
nothing there except — except ” 

“Yes,” Buddy encouraged. 

“Except Schuyler,” was the answer. 

Buddy’s blood raced. Was this the first break? 
A majority of the players, led by the pitcher, had 
129 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


brought student wrath down on the nine. Had 
one of that majority cut away? 

The captain spoke slowly. ‘What — what about 
Schuyler ?’’ 

“He's always telling us how we ought to run 
things." Pilgrim looked down at the ground. “Pm 
getting tired of that," he said, “and I guess a whole 
lot of the others are getting tired of it, too." 


CHAPTER VII 


SCHUYLER READS A NOTE 

I T was Monday before Buddy was able to learn 
how the games had gone. Then he awoke to 
the fact that Fairview had missed a golden 
opportunity. For Irontown had lost to Bloomfield 
and Pompton had beaten Saddle River. Of the 
other games, Gates had triumphed over Brunswick, 
and Garrison had dropped her fourth straight, this 
time to Hasbrouck. 

A few minutes past eight o’clock Buddy tele- 
phoned to Irontown and got the results. He went 
directly to school, and sat at his desk, and pre- 
pared a new standing of the teams : 

W. L. PC. W. L. PC. 

Irontown 3 i .750 Bloomfield 2 2 .500 

Saddle River... 3 i .750 Gates 2 2 .500 

Lackawanna ... 3 i .750 Brunswick .... i 3 .250 

Pompton 3 I .750 Hasbrouck i 3 .250 

Fairview 2 2 .500 Garrison o 4 .000 

‘'Gosh!” he said mournfully. “If we had won, 
we’d be tied with Irontown and Saddle River and 
Pompton.’" 

131 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


However, he did not waste time repining. A 
brighter day was coming. Pilgrim had shown him 
that. 

He whistled a bit as he fastened the league stand- 
ing to the bulletin board. But at noon, when he 
came out of classes, all thought of whistling died. 
Tacked to the bulletin board was this: 

Did the stuck-up Lizzies chase Carrots O’Toole, too? 

Up to this time Carrots’s going had caused no 
comment that he knew of. Now the school was in 
a mood to criticize anything. Buddy walked home 
to dinner with his eyes puckered thoughtfully. 

He felt that he faced a double problem. First 
was the question of what he should do if the players 
asked him about Carrots. Then there was the ques- 
tion of what he should do about Carrots’s note. 

He did not want to tell the nine why Carrots 
had quit. At present there were two players who 
did not like Schuyler — Pilgrim and Neale. There 
might be still another — Yost. Their dislike, how- 
ever, was expressed only in an occasional word or 
look. It did not spread and eat like a decayed spot 
in an apple. 

But, if he told that Schuyler’s talk had driven 
Carrots away, what then? Would not the nine 
immediately be split? Would not the players imme- 
132 


SCHUYLER READS A NOTE 


diately turn on Schuyler and badger him? If that 
happened, what chance would remain of ever mak- 
ing the pitcher of any use to the nine? 

Thinking of Schuyler brought Buddy’s mind back 
to the note that Carrots had written. Schuyler 
could not be allowed to go on and throw away 
games. It had to stop. But — and here the cap- 
tain’s eyes grew narrow — what was the best way to 
stop it? 

Of course, he could go to Schuyler and say 
“Here! You’ve lost two games. Read that.” 
However, he did not want to handle the situation in 
this fashion. He did not want to make the first 
move. He would prefer that Schuyler come to him. 
If he stuck that note under Schuyler’s nose, the 
pitcher might think it was an attack. On the other 
hand, if Schuyler came to him with a question, he 
could use the note as an answer. The fact that he 
had not shown the note before would rob the whole 
transaction of its sting. 

“Come, Leo,” said Mrs. Jones. “You’re forget- 
ting your dinner.” She never used the familiar 
nickname of Buddy. 

“Thinking, mother,” he said ruefully. 

He walked to school that afternoon wondering 
if any questions would be asked him. He had de- 
termined that it was best for him to dodge and 
evade. When he saw Neale approach he braced 
himself for a cross-examination. 

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But the player did not ask the question he ex- 
pected. Instead : , 

“Worried about that sign on the bulletin board, 
Buddy?’’ 

The captain nodded before he had time to think 
whether it was best to confess that much. 

“Forget it,” Neale said bluntly. “It won’t stir 
up anything. There’s a whole lot of us who think 
that Carrots quit because of what Yost said.” 

Buddy stared in surprise. This was news to him. 
Neale read his look. 

“We’ve thought it a long time. Buddy — and we’ve 
kept our mouths shut.” 

A warm thrill ran through the captain’s veins. 
This was Fairview, the Fairview that Schuyler 
could not change. Suddenly he resolved to drop all 
reserve and to take Neale into his confidence. He 
told about the talk he had had with Pilgrim out- 
side the field house. 

“You think the players will follow Pilgrim?” 
Neale asked. 

Buddy nodded. 

“At once?” 

Buddy’s eyes opened wide. “Well, won’t 
they?” 

“N-no; I don’t think so. You see, that fat- 
head Schuyler has another plan. He’s talking about 
putting a shower in the field house.” 

“Oh!” Buddy drew a deep breath. He knew 

134 


SCHUYLER READS A NOTE 


what that meant. The brighter day he had dreamed 
of began to grow dim. 

When classes were over, he found Poole and 
Wally waiting. Poole’s first sentence halted him. 

‘'Schuyler’s been to see me,” said the president 
of the A. A. 

“What about?” Buddy’s voice was weak. 

“A shower bath. He wants the A. A. to pay for 
putting one into the field house.” 

“He wants the A. A. to pay for it,” Wally said 
significantly. 

Buddy gave the scorer a quick look. What did 
that significant tone mean? Suddenly the captain 
understood. An expression of relief swept across 
his face. 

“See it?” Wally chuckled. 

Oh, yes; Buddy saw it. The boys who did not 
play on the school teams formed an overwhelming 
majority of the athletic association. They had 
scant love for the field house. They had been ex- 
cluded as undesirables. Asking them to pay for a 
field house improvement was a joke. 

“For once,” said Wally, “friend Schuyler has 
missed his step.” 

Buddy had come from classes listless and dull. 
Now his spiritless mood was gone. He walked with 
a springy stride. His eyes were bright. Presto! 
his troubles were gone. 

When he came from the field house in uniform 

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there were only a few students watching the work. 
Schuyler sat with two or three of the boys. Buddy 
walked that way. 

‘‘Ah !” he heard Schuyler say, “look at the teams 
Pm sent against. Saddle River and Lackawanna. 
They lead the league, and ” 

One of the boys nudged Schuyler and whispered. 
The pitcher stopped. Buddy walked past and pre- 
tended that he had not heard. But his brain was 
working fast. Carrots^s note was in the pocket of 
the coat he had hung in the field house. Should 
he go back and get it ? Should he use it now ? 

“O Bud!’’ Neale called. 

The summons decided the captain. He would 
wait. Turning, he walked toward the infielder. 

“Schuyler has dropped his shower bath talk,” 
Neale said in an undertone. “He got wind that 
the A. A. would turn him down cold.” 

Buddy smiled. That Schuyler would not con- 
tinue his agitation and thus keep the pot of unrest 
boiling was good news. 

“Hold on,” said Neale. “You’re not out of the 
woods yet.” 

Buddy’s smile became sick. “No ?” 

“Not on your life. He’s saying now that we 
ought to hunt through our cellars and bams for 
old lumber and build wooden lockers.” 

Buddy closed his eyes. Presto! and his troubles 
were back again. Why couldn’t the players be 
136 


SCHUYLER READS A NOTE 


satisfied ? Why couldn’t they see that the big thing 
was to play ball? 

‘T was talking to Hill,” Neale went on. 

Buddy’s eyes popped open. Had Hill broken 
away from Schuyler? 

“I was talking to him about his hitting,” Neale 
said. ‘‘You know he’s weak on a low ball. I had 
an idea I could show him how to overcome that 
weakness. He watched me until I got through, and 
then what do you suppose he asked me? If old 
weather-boarding would do for building lockers.” 

“Didn’t he ask a single question about the hit- 
ting?” Buddy demanded. 

“He was thinking about lockers,” Neale said 
bluntly. 

All through the afternoon a refrain echoed in 
Buddy’s brain — Schuyler must be stopped! The in- 
cident of Hill showed that the situation was des- 
perate. Ball players love to hit the ball and see it 
travel. When a player could pay indifferent atten- 
tion to a batting lesson, something was very, very 
wrong. And the wrong was Schuyler. 

Though Buddy twisted the problem inside and 
out, the end of the practice found him far from a 
solution. Of course, he could go to Schuyler and 
order him to stop, but that would lead only to hard 
feelings, and things were bad enough as they were. 
If there was only some subtle way in which Schuy- 
ler could be made to see the harm he was doing ! 

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In the field house Buddy skinned out of his uni- 
form and began to dress. He was buttoning his 
collar when a summons came from the doorway : 

‘Ts Jones there?’’ 

‘^Yes, sir,” said Buddy. He had recognized the 
voice of Mr. Davis, the Latin instructor. He went 
outside and joined the teacher. 

‘‘I can’t go to Bloomfield next Wednesday, Jones. 
You’ll have to get somebody to take my place.” 

‘‘Let them name both umpires,” said Buddy. 

Mr. Dixon smiled. “Aren’t you afraid of get- 
ting it rubbed into you?” 

“There isn’t a team in the league would do that,” 
Buddy laughed. He returned to the field house 
and made a memorandum to telephone to Bloomfield 
in the morning so that she would have two umpires 
ready. 

While he stood in front of the mirror combing 
his hair, he could see the reflection of Schuyler’s 
face. Somebody had stepped on the pitcher’s shoes 
and had spoiled their shiny appearance, and he was 
staring at them with frowning disapproval. 

Buddy ran the comb through his hair. He won- 
dered if Schuyler had any loyalty at all. Suppose 
he heard somebody else roast Fairview. Would 
he say a word in its defense ? 

Buddy had known a boy who owned a dog. He 
called that dog all the no-account names that ever 
were, but nobody else dared criticize. Would Schuy- 

138 


SCHUYLER READS A NOTE 


ler be like that if the test came? Would he sud- 
denly find that, in spite of all his talk, he really 
cared for his school? And, if somebody began to 
say that Fairview was mean, and cheap, and 
cramped 

Buddy put his comb away. Only one side of his 
hair was in order, but he had lost interest in the 
transaction. An idea had come to him. It was an 
idea fraught with danger, yet he was resolved to 
put it to the test. If Schuyler would agree to what 
he would say, he would find himself in a sorry fix. 

If, on the other hand, Schuyler should disagree 

It was the hope of that that urged him on. 

Outside the field house he waited. When Schuy- 
ler came forth he fell into step at once. 

‘T^m going your way,” he said. 

Schuyler’s face showed his surprise. After a mo- 
ment of quick thought he nodded as though he had 
made up his mind. He put his hands in his pockets 
and shut his lips tight. He would wait to see what 
happened. Plainly the captain had not decided to 
walk with him for nothing. 

'‘Mr. Davis cannot come to Bloomfield Wednes- 
day,” said Buddy. 

“No?” Schuyler’s voice was non-committal. 

“We must dig up another umpire. We need 
that game. We’ve won two and lost two, and 
another defeat will give us a bad set-back. 
Now ” 


139 


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Buddy^s pause was cleverly acted. 

“Yes,” Schuyler prompted. 

“You know how close the plays at first base are,” 

Buddy said. “Well ” Another pause. “Look 

here, Schuyler, I can get a fellow to come out to 
umpire who'll give us enough close decisions to 
swing us the game.” 

Schuyler’s jaw dropped as though somebody had 
punched him in the stomach. “We can’t do that,” 
he gasped. 

“No; why not?” 

“It wouldn’t be square.” 

“Nonsense! This is a dinky little school. We 
don’t cut much ice. What does it matter what we 
do?” 

“But it does matter,” Schuyler said earnestly. 
“Size doesn’t mean anything. At Irontown, Drake 
always said that honesty was honesty, here, there 
and everywhere.” 

Buddy winced a bit. So even Schuyler’s opinions 
about fair play came from Irontown! The captain 
threw this mood off. Schuyler was not saying all 
he would like to have heard, but nevertheless the 
pitcher was playing into his hands. 

“It doesn’t make any difference,” he insisted. 
“Drake is wrong. We’re of no account. Didn’t 
you know that? Why, our own fellows don’t sup- 
port us tooth and nail. You must know that. But 
then, what can you expect? We have no lockers, 
140 


SCHUYLER READS A NOTE 


or showers, or gym. It doesn’t matter what we do, 
does it?” 

Schuyler halted and looked at the captain for al- 
most a minute. Suddenly he swung around and 
walked away. 

‘T don’t think,” Buddy said softly, “there’ll be 
any more talk about lockers.” 

There wasn’t. Next day when the subject came 
up in the field house, Schuyler examined a glove 
with such engrossing attention that he apparently 
failed to hear the discussion. Buddy wanted to 
shout. Here was a gun that had been annoying 
him all season, and now the gun was spiked and 
apparently spiked for good. 

It may have been only his imagination, but he 
thought that the practice ran better that day. Ar- 
thur Stone, due to pitch on the morrow, apparently 
had all the speed and cunning necessary to win. 
By the time the work ended. Buddy was in rare 
good humor. 

But, when he reached home and began to study 
the schedule, some of his good humor left him. 
From a Fairview standpoint the schedule was dis- 
tinctly bad. Irontown, Lackawanna and Pompton, 
all tied for the lead, had games with the three tail- 
enders, Brunswick, Hasbrouck and Garrison. As 
for Fairview, her game was with Bloomfield — and 
Bloomfield had just beaten the mighty Irontown. 

About Saddle River the captain no longer 
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worried. Pompton had beaten her 15 to 2 in last 
Saturday’s game. When the score had come in, 
he and the other players had wondered at the 
slaughter. Now they understood. Five of Saddle 
River’s players had been barred from athletics be- 
cause of poor work in their studies. Saddle River 
was out of it. 

The other three teams, however, were enough of 
a problem to keep him awake. If they all won — ' 
and it was probable that they would — and if Fair- 
view lost, the gap between them would widen in 
an alarming manner. 

‘‘Oh, well,” Buddy sighed, “if Arthur is as good 
as he was today there’ll be nothing to worry 
about.” 

But as soon as Arthur began to warm up at 
Bloomfield, Buddy saw that there was a mighty big 
difference. The pitcher’s speed was only ordinary 
and his curve broke lazily. Its cracking zip was 
gone. 

When the warm-up was over, he met Arthur and 
walked toward the bench. 

“How’s the arm ?” he asked guardedly. 

“Fine,” Arthur smiled. “Feels great.” 

Buddy dropped down on the bench and arranged 
his mask and protector so that he could get them 
as soon as Fairview had to take the field. He 
had seen cases like this before, times when a pitcher 
would be feeling fit and yet not have his effective- 
1142 


SCHUYLER READS A NOTE 


ness. He hoped that Arthur would work into shape 
as the game ran on. 

But it was the fifth inning before the pitcher 
found his stride. Then it was too late. Bloomfield 
had amassed five runs, and judging by the game 
her own pitcher was going, five runs would be 
enough for her to win. 

To Buddy came a feeling that Fate was taunting 
him and teasing him, always holding out the hope 
of success, and always snatching away the chance 
to win. Yet he threw back his shoulders and 
fought every inch of the way. When Fairview’s 
second run was scored in the sixth inning, he told 
himself that a couple of more hits would turn the 
tide. But it was Ahrens who came to bat next, 
and Ahrens hit into a double play. 

Again in the ninth there was a chance to start 
a rally. This time Ahrens struck out and Fair- 
view’s hopes sank to zero. A moment later the 
game was over. 

‘‘Well,” said Schuyler, “so friend Arthur can also 
lose a game now and then.” 

He had spoken to Yost as the team was leaving 
the field. The first-baseman bit his lips and gave 
an angry tug at his sweater. 

“Did you notice Ahrens’ batting?” he asked. 

Schuyler nodded. “Who could help noticing it?” 

“If Buddy had a fellow in there who could 
hit ” 


143 


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Schuyler asked, ‘‘why doesn’t he put you 
in there? You can hit.” 

“He doesn’t put me in there because You 

and I are responsible for this lost game, Schuyler.” 

“Oh, are we?” Schuyler’s voice was tart with 
sarcasm. “And how is that?” 

“You filled my head with that paid coach non- 
sense ” 

“It isn’t nonsense !” cried Schuyler. 

“It is. Look at Brunswick. She has a paid 
coach. Look where she is — next to last. Anyway, 
you filled me full of that, and I talked like an idiot. 
What happened? Buddy dropped me. Then Car- 
rots heard of it ” 

“Ah!” said Schuyler; “so that’s it, eh?” 

“That’s it,” Yost cried wrathfully. “If I had 
kept my senses I’d be in there yet and Carrots would 
be with the team. Instead of that we have no coach 
and a player who can’t hit a balloon. You and I 
ought to be licked.” 

“Speak for yourself,” Schuyler cried angrily. 

“Fm going to,” Yost announced. He turned on 
his heel and walked back to meet Buddy. 

The impulse to go to the captain had come on 
him all of a sudden. And the sight of Buddy walk- 
ing in the rear and wearily carrying his protector, 
his mask and his glove, routed any inclination he 
had to halt and retrace his steps. 

“I know why Carrots isn’t here,” he said hur- 

144 


SCHUYLER READS A NOTE 


riedly. “I found it out after that sign went up on 
the bulletin board. I’m sorry, Buddy. We’d have 

won that game, maybe, if There isn’t much 

use in being sorry. The game is over. But I — I 
wish I had kept my mouth shut.” 

One by one the weary lines in the captain’s face 
disappeared. His back straightened. 

“Yost,” he said, “tomorrow you go back to the 
bag.” 

A hot flush ran into Yost’s cheeks. “I didn’t 
come here hoping you’d put me back.” 

“That’s why you’re going back,” Buddy said 
softly. 

He entered the Bloomfield dressing-room ready 
now to harken his players as a captain should. 
Wasn’t it strange, he thought, that every time old 
Mr. Hardluck made him groggy, something good 
happened to revive his drooping spirits. Now, if 
Carrots would come back 

“You can’t tell,” he whispered to himself. “May- 
be Carrots will.” 

The game had been slow and long drawn out. 
Before the players were ready for the street, the 
Bloomfield captain hurried in on them with a slip 
of paper in his hand. He had telephoned to Iron- 
town and had the results of all the other games. 

Buddy nerved himself for the worst. It came. 
The three leaders had won. Poor old Saddle River 
had been beaten again, this time by Gates. 

I4S 


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On the ride home the captain made a new tabu- 
lation showing the standing of the teams : 

W. L. PC. W. L. PC. 

Irontown 4 i .800 Bloomfield .... 3 2 .600 

Lackawanna ... 4 i .800 Fairview 2 3 .400 

Pompton 4 I .800 Brunswick i 4 .200 

Gates 3 2 .600 Hasbrouck i 4 .200 

Saddle River... 3 2 .600 Garrison 0 5 .000 

Hill, the third-baseman, whistled. “WeVc in 
seventh place now.’’ 

There wasn’t much talk. Schuyler ran his eyes 
over the league standing and then looked away. He 
was more concerned with what Yost might have 
told the captain. 

When the stage came to Fairview he plucked at 
the first-baseman’s arm and halted him. 

'"What did you tell Jones about me?” 

‘‘Nothing.” 

“You told him something.” 

“I told him I was sorry for the part I had played.” 

“Oh!” Schuyler’s tone became a slur. “I sup- 
pose he’s putting you back on the bag?” 

“He is.” 

n Schuyler’s lips curled. 

Yost’s mouth became a thin line. His fists 
clenched. “Well,” he asked; “what about it?” 

‘^Oh — ah — nothing.” In some things Schuyler 
knew when it was time to quit. 

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SCHUYLER READS A NOTE 


He walked home not in the least disturbed by the 
afternoon’s events. Yost had given him his first 
intimation that gossip had forced Carrots to quit. 
For all of that, he felt no twinges of conscience. He 
was sure that the school was well rid of the red- 
haired huckster boy. Carrots a coach ? Wake 
up! 

Next day Yost went back to first base and Neale 
returned to second. What few students were at 
the practice lifted a cheer. Ahrens smiled ruefully. 
He was disappointed that he had not made good — 
but not sore. He understood his own limita- 
tions. 

Schuyler watched the change with a smile of 
derision. When it came time for him to warm-up, 
he hurled the ball as though he was trying to work 
off a grouch. Buddy sent him to pitch to the bat- 
ters. When Yost came to the plate he put every- 
thing he had on the ball, and Yost struck out. The 
first-baseman smiled quietly. He thought he knew 
why Schuyler was trying so hard against him. 

‘‘Stay there until you hit it,” said Buddy. 

Yost nodded. Schuyler drew back his arm. In- 
stantly the first-baseman stepped forward as far as 
the batter’s box would allow. He hit at Schuyler’s 
fadeaway before it had a chance to break, and the 
ball sailed away toward the outfield. 

Schuyler was furious, but dared not show it. His 
anger robbed him of some of his effectiveness, and 

147 


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Neale, McCarter and Hill all rapped his offerings. 

Buddy’s face crinkled into a wide, happy smile. 
The players, evidently, had found their batting eyes. 
Yost’s return had improved the fielding twenty per 
cent. Two or three victories in a row might change 
the league standing considerably. 

The next game was against Gates at home. This 
time. Buddy thought, the schedule treated Fairview 
kindlier. True, Irontown was to cross bats with 
Brunswick who had only won one game out of five, 
but Lackawanna and Pompton would be playing 
against each other and cutting each other’s throats. 
On that there yyas comfort. At least one of the 
three leading teams was bound to lose. 

How the students would act was a problem that 
Buddy refused to face. Judged by the spirit that 
Pilgrim and Yost had shown of late, the nine would 
fight if not a boy turned out. For all of that, the 
captain longed for an old-time game — Fairview 
cheers and Fairview songs — something to warm the 
blood. However, if it didn’t come the nine would 
have to do without it. He wasn’t going to waste 
time worrying about whether it came or not. 

Another problem was Schuyler, and it was a prob- 
lem that could not be thrust aside. If he weakened 
in the closing moments Buddy hunted up Ar- 

thur Stone. 

‘‘Will you get to the Gates game?” 

Arthur nodded. “Nothing to stop me this time.” 

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SCHUYLER READS A NOTE 


Buddy drew a deep breath. Now let Schuyler 
weaken if that was what Fate had in store for him ! 

Almost the entire student body turned out for the 
game. Instead of cheering and singing, they stood 
about in silence. Some few of the boys wanted to 
make a noise, and by degrees they herded together. 
Theirs was the only Fairview cheering heard. 

Buddy watched his players. So far as he could 
see, they took no notice of the coolness. He shut 
his lips grimly and signaled Schuyler to pitch to 
the first Gates batter. Schuyler pitched, and the 
batter fouled out. 

A thin, weak, bloodless cheer from Fairview. 

Even when Yost’s crashing hit scored two runs 
in the third, the cheers did not grow in volume. 
When two more runs came over in the fifth, there 
was a bit more vigor to the noise but not much. 
And when Gates scored once on Schuyler in the 
seventh, there was a laugh and a solitary cry of 
‘'Good boy. Gates.” But the student who had 
shouted that had carried the quarrel a little too far. 
Other students began to absent-mindedly walk all 
over him, and at last he slunk away. Not cheer- 
ing Fairview was one thing — cheering Gates was 
another. 

That seventh inning set Buddy’s nerves on edge. 
Was Schuyler going again ? But Schuyler got 
safely through the seventh and eighth. Then came 
the ninth. He walked out to the mound smiling 
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like the cat that had just swallowed the canary. At 
last he was going to win. He had a three run lead 
at his back. 

The first batter fouled a dozen balls, and then 
got his base. The next boy hit a single to right 
field, and the first runner went to third. Then, on 
the next ball pitched, a Gates batter shot a two- 
bagger down the third-base line. One run was in, 
runners were on second and third, and no one was 
out. 

All afternoon, obeying whispered instructions 
from Buddy, Arthur had been throwing a ball 
around between innings. Now, when he caught 
Buddy’s signal, his arm was not entirely cold. He 
walked out to the diamond. 

‘‘Hello!” said Schuyler haughtily. “What are 
you doing here?” 

“Going to pitch,” Arthur answered. 

“Who says so?” 

“Buddy.” 

Up to this point Schuyler had not glanced at his 
catcher. He had been watching the base runners 
while waiting for the next Gates batter to step up. 
He looked quickly toward the plate. Buddy’s 
glove moved. He handed the ball to Arthur and 
strode toward the bench. 

There had been a tightening tension among the 
fielders. All at once it broke. Their voices called 
jovially to the new pitcher. 

150 


SCHUYLER READS A NOTE 

Arthur shot the ball toward the plate. 

‘‘Strike one!” ruled Mr. Davis. 

Schuyler pulled on his sweater and dropped down 
on the bench. Inwardly he was raging. Yanked 
from the box with only two runs scored on him all 
afternoon. Yanked from the box to give friend 
Arthur a chance! 

He was sick of it. As soon as the game was over 
he’d make Buddy explain. He wasn’t going to be 
anybody’s fool. 

“Strike three! Batter’s out!” came Mr. Davis’ 
voice. 

Schuyler choked. That fellow was the weakest 
batter on the team. Anybody could strike him out. 

There was the sharp crack of a hit ball. Schuy- 
ler’s eyes followed the sphere’s flight. Out it went, 
then down and into the waiting hands of Pilgrim. 

The runner on third elected to try to score. A 
wild throw, he thought, might let two runs in and 
tie the score. He dashed for the plate. 

Pilgrim’s throw reached Buddy on the second 
bound. The captain stabbed at a leg that flashed 
at him out of a cloud of dust. 

“Out !” said Mr. Davis. The Gates runner 
sighed. The game was over. 

Schuyler jumped up, took two quick steps to- 
ward Buddy, paused. Maybe it would be just as 
well if he demanded an explanation when he and 
the captain were alone. Perhaps it might be best if 

151 


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the players and the students did not hear what 
Buddy said. 

For there was a chance, Schuyler knew, that 
Buddy might refer to his other games. To an out- 
sider that would sound bad. So far as he was con- 
cerned, he would refuse to accept such an explana- 
tion. He would demand to know what was what 
— why Arthur was pitched against the weak teams, 
and why he was sent in against the leaders, and 
why he was yanked for Arthur to make a dramatic 
entrance. 

That final play of the game had broken down 
some of the student indifference. Belated cheers 
were now sounding from the field. Schuyler did 
not hear them. 

While he dressed a heavy frown darkened his 
face. He hoped that Buddy would not be long. 

The captain had no intention of delaying. He 
knew by the signs that Schuyler was ready to ex- 
plode. Well, the sooner it came, the sooner it 
would be over. 

Tonight he did not bother to comb his hair. He 
slapped his cap on his head, called a quick “So long, 
fellows!^’ and strode out. Schuyler followed. 

Outdoors the pitcher came alongside the cap- 
tain at once. 

“What's the meaning of this ?" he demanded. 

“The meaning of what?" Buddy asked calmly. 

“Of taking me out of the box when we're two 

^52 


SCHUYLER READS A NOTE 


runs ahead. I was all right. It was my game. 
In another minute I’d have struck out that fellow 
that Arthur fanned.” 

‘‘Would you?” Buddy asked. 

Schuyler’s anger flared. “You know I would,” 
he cried. “You and Arthur are friends ” 

“Just a minute,” said Buddy. “You pitched 
against Saddle River and blew up in the seventh 
and eighth.” 

“You can’t put anything like that over on me. 
I’m talking about today.” 

“And against Lackawanna you blew up in the 
eighth and ninth,” Buddy went on. “Did you ever 
stop to think that there might be a reason for the 
way you go to pieces ?” 

A stab of cold apprehension chilled the fire in 
Schuyler’s veins. Reason ? Was there a reason ? 

“I have a note here.” Buddy put his hand in his 
pocket and drew out a piece of paper. “Suppose 
you read it, Schuyler.” 

Wondering, and fearing, the pitcher opened the 
note: 

Schuyler wouldn’t use my body swing, so just watch 
and see if I’m right. His arm will tire. Along about the 
seventh or eighth inning he’ll get his. See if I’m right. 

“Carrots sent me that,” said Buddy. 

Schuyler looked up from the note with a scowl 
of disbelief. “When, after I had pitched a couple 

153 


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of games ? To make that advice about a body swing 
look good?” 

“Carrots gave me that note before the stage left 
for Saddle River. He told me not to open it until 
after the game.” 

Emotions chased one another across Schuyler’s 
face. First amusement that anybody should think 
he would believe such a yarn, then doubt, then a 
dawning realization that Buddy spoke the truth. 
He stared down at the note and read it again. 
Come to think of it, his arm always did get tired 
toward the end. But he had thought that every 
pitcher felt that fatigue. 

“Better put it away and study it,” said Buddy. 

Slowly — ^very slowly — Schuyler folded the note 
and put it in his pocket 


CHAPTER VIII 


SCHUYLER ANSWERS A QUESTION 

A ll that was honest and clean in Schuyler’s 
nature came to the surface that night. A 
dozen times he read Carrots’s note, and each 
time its logic seemed clearer. His arm had failed 
because it alone had had to stand the strain — ^that 
is, unless every pitcher grew weary after seven 
or eight innings. 

Did they? That was the last lingering doubt 
Schuyler went forth in search of Arthur Stone. 

‘Tell me something,” he said impulsively. “How 
do you feel at the end of a game?” 

“All right,” Arthur answered. He did not un- 
derstand. His eyes said so. 

“I mean,” Schuyler amended, “is your arm so 
tired out that it hurts?” 

“No.” Arthur shook his head. “Of course. I’m 

not as fresh as at the start, but ” 

“But it doesn’t feel as though it’s all in?” 

“No. What’s the matter, Schuyler? Arm both- 
ering you?” 

Schuyler said his arm was all right. As he 
walked back toward home his mind debated what 

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he should do. Change to the body swing? A 
look of distress crossed his face. He had tried 
it once and his pitching had been a failure. What 
good would it do him to adopt a motion that would 
make him easy to hit? 

On the other hand, what good would it do him 
to pitch as he pitched now — breezing along nicely 
for six innings, and then blowing up with a 
bang? 

‘T guess,” he said thoughtfully, ‘‘ifs the body 
swing for mine. Maybe, if I get it, my curve will 
be all right.” 

When he came to the house he did not go inside. 
Carrots’s note was in his pocket, and his fingers felt 
it. He had jeered at this huckster boy. Yet this 
same huckster boy had looked at him once and had 
recognized his weak spot. 

Schuyler leaned against the gate post and swal- 
lowed as though his throat was painful. His 
theory about paid coaches had been knocked into a 
hat. Suppose this chap Carrots was a good coach ? 
Suppose his talk had sent Carrots adrift? Sup- 
pose this red-haired boy could help the school? 

^‘But,” Schuyler argued weakly, “it may have 
been an accident the way he noticed my pitch- 
ing.” 

His sense of right and wrong would not be 
stilled. He was responsible for Carrots going. It 
wasn’t up to him to decide the question of acci- 

156 


SCHUYLER ANSWERS A QUESTION 


dents. It was up to him to keep his hand clean, to 
do what was right, to play his part like a man. 

He strode away from the gate post. Five min- 
utes later he entered the field house. 

Yost and Neale were at the table. They looked 
up and nodded shortly. McCarter, the shortstop, 
called a greeting. 

‘‘Hello, Schuyler! WeVe been figuring where 
we stand.’’ 

“Got the results of the games?” Schuyler asked. 

McCarter nodded. “Buddy was in a little while 
ago and told us. Saddle River came to life and 
beat Garrison, Lackawanna beat Pompton, Has- 
brouck beat Bloomfield and Irontown beat Bruns- 
wick. There’s the league standing on the 
table.” 

Schuyler approached to look at it. In silence 
Yost and Neale made room. The pitcher studied 
the standing: 


W. L. PC. W. L. PC. 

Irontown 5 i .833 Gates 3 3 .500 

Lackawanna ... $ i .833 Bloomfield 3 3 .500 

Saddle River. . . 4 2 .666 Hasbrouck 2 4 .333 

Pompton 4 2 .666 Brunswick i 5 .166 

Fairview 3 3 .500 Garrison o 6 .000 

The pitcher scarcely heard the talk that went on 
around him. If he hadn’t weakened in his games 
against Saddle River and Lackawanna He 

157 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


caught Yost's glance and nodded toward the door. 
The first-baseman hesitated. Then, still in a hesi- 
tating manner, he arose from his chair. Schuyler 
walked out of the field house. Yost followed. 

‘‘Well?" he asked. 

Schuyler's voice was low. “Do you know where 
Carrots O’Toole lives?" 

“Yes." 

“Will you show me the house?" 

“Come on," said Yost. He had made a quick de- 
cision. Even as he led the way he wondered if he 
had not been too hasty and if he should not have 
inquired what this strange request meant. 

In silence the two boys walked through the quiet 
roads of the little town. Presently Yost came to 
a halt. 

“There it is," he said. “That one with the light 
burning in the parlor." 

“Thank you," said Schuyler. He took a step 
toward the house. 

Yost had thought that Schuyler wanted merely 
to locate the geography of the place. When he saw 
the pitcher stride forward, he clutched and caught 
his arm. 

“Here," he said grimly. “You and I have made 
enough trouble. What are you going to do?" 

“I'm going to ask him something," Schuyler an- 
swered. 

“What?" 

IS8 


SCHUYLER ANSWERS A QUESTION 


going to ask him to come back and coach the 

team.’' 

‘‘You’re not fooling me?” 

“I’m not a liar,” Schuyler said with dignity. 

The first-baseman dropped his hand. When he 
spoke again all the grimness was gone from his^ 
voice. 

“Schuyler,” he said, “I guess you’re all right 
at that.” 

“I’m not asking for compliments,” Schuyler an- 
swered stiffly, and walked toward the house. 

He found a bell knob alongside the door. When 
he pulled, a bell jangled somewhere in the dwelling. 
He heard the sound of a chair being moved and 
following that the echo of footsteps. Then the 
door was opened. 

“Hello !” said Carrots. “How’s the fellow from 
Irontown? Come in.” 

An open book on the parlor table told that Car- 
rots had been reading. Schuyler sat on the edge 
of a chair and ran nervous fingers over the top of 
his cap. 

“So you woke up to the fact that the body swing 
might be best for you,” Carrots stated calmly. 

Schuyler’s back stiffened. 

“I’ve been following your record,” Carrots went 
on calmly. “Two defeats and yanked out of the 
box the third time.” 

Schuyler was finding the interview decidedly 

159 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


unpleasant. He resolved to finish it as quickly as 
possible. 

‘T came,” he said hurriedly, ‘'to see if you would 
go back to the team.” There! It was out! 

Carrots gave a little surprised grunt and stared 
intently at his visitor. “WhaCs the game?” he 
asked at last. 

“Buddy and some of the fellows think you could 
help them.” 

“But what brings you here?” 

“I — I heard a few days ago that you quit be- 
cause — because ” 

“All right. Well pass that. What else?” 

“Buddy showed me your note.” 

“When?” 

“Today.” 

“Then you decided you had been all wrong -” 

“No,” said Schuyler; “I thought maybe you 
might be right.” 

“You’re one of those stick-to-a-finish fellows, 
aren’t you ?” Carrots asked calmly. He got up and 
began to walk around the table, around, around, 
around, until Schuyler was sure that he must have 
walked a mile. 

“I see your game now,” Carrots said at last. 
“You think I might have the right dope on why you 
blew up, and you think I might have the right dope 
on other things. Just the same you won’t be sur- 
prised if I merely made a good guess in your case.” 
i6o 


SCHUYLER ANSWERS A QUESTION 


Schuyler gave a start. 

Carrots grinned. ‘‘You came here saying to 
yourself that, as long as you are up in the air about 
me, it's up to you to do the square thing and try to 
get me back. If I do help the nine you can pat 
your chest and say if it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t 
have been there. And if I fall down, you can say 
that you did your part, anyway.” 

Schuyler squirmed in his seat. “I came here be- 
cause it seemed the fair thing.” 

“Sure,” said Carrots; “and why wasn’t it the 
fair thing for you to keep your mouth shut at the 
start? Believe me, if I was captain and you started 
to beef about my way of doing things. I’d take you 
out in a vacant lot and I’d wallop you good.” 

Schuyler stood up. “It’s up to you to come or 
stay away,” he said. “I’ve done my part.” 

Carrots’s eyes became thoughtful. “What are you 
going to do about that body swing?” 

“I’m going to try it out.” 

“An honest try or just sc-so?” 

“I’ve got to give it an honest try. I’ve got to find 
out what’s wrong with me.” 

“In other words, you’re going to take my advice 
as an experiment — a sort of I’ll-try-anything-once, 
eh?” 

Schuyler found his visit growing more uncom- 
fortable every minute. 

“Isn’t that right ?” Carrots demanded. 

i6i 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


‘‘I — I guess it is,” the pitcher answered. 

Carrots nodded once or twice and led the way 
out to the hall. With his hand on the doorknob he 
paused : 

‘If I come out and tell you to do something you 
think isn't right ” 

“I'll do it,” said Schuyler. “If you spill the beans 
it's up to you and Buddy.” 

“Gee!” said Carrots. “Why didn't you get some 
of that sense into your noodle a couple of weeks 
ago?” 

The huckster boy swung open the door and 
Schuyler passed out. Not until Yost asked him 
eagerly what Carrots had said did he awake to the 
fact that Carrots had promised nothing. For all 
he knew, his visit may have been in vain. He drew 
a deep breath. Well, he had cleaned the slate. 
Whatever happened now wasn't up to him. 

He had a mind to go to Buddy and tell what he 
had done. On second thought he rejected the idea. 
Going to Buddy would look as though he was try- 
ing to crawl. 

But the captain was not kept long in ignorance 
of what had happened. After breakfast next morn- 
ing, as he sat on the porch in the warm sunshine. 
Carrots came down the street. 

“Hello, Bud!” 

“Hello!” Buddy drew up another chair. 

The huckster boy stared out at the road and 
162 


SCHUYLER ANSWERS A QUESTION 


smiled quietly. '"Schuyler came to see me last 
night” 

Buddy found a sudden tightness in his throat. 
What was this, more trouble? Had the note, in- 
stead of chastening Schuyler’s spirit, made him 
more bumptious than before? 

“What about?” Buddy asked. 

“He wanted me to come back as coach.” 

“What?” 

“Fact.” Carrots grinned. “I’ll come now that 
he’s stopped making cracks.” 

A thrill ran through every nerve of the captain’s 
body. A moment before the summer air had been 
soft and sweet. Now it was like rarest nectar. 

“Gee!” he cried happily, “but this is good news. 
Fm glad he woke up that you knew ” 

Carrots made a wry face. “He isn’t sure whether 
I know anything about baseball or not.” 

“He isn’t? Not after asking you to come back?” 

“The note has him guessing. He isn’t sure 
whether I’m a wise bird or just a good bluffer. 
He’s willing to take a chance.” 

Buddy’s face fell. If that was Schuyler’s spirit 
the nine wasn’t much better off than before. 

“If he feels that way. Carrots, he’ll make trouble 
all over again.” 

“Oh, no. He said he’d do as he was told.” 

This time Buddy almost jumped from the chair. 
“Schuyler said that ?” 


163 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


'‘He did. I asked him what would happen if he 
got an order he didn^t like. He said he’d toe the 
mark.” 

All at once the sunshine became brighter, the 
grass was greener, the blue of the sky was fairer. 
Why, this was fine ! This was all right ! 

Buddy ran indoors and brought down the sched- 
ule. He and Carrots studied it for an hour. The 
huckster boy pointed out that Irontown’s showing 
of five games won and one game lost was not as 
impressive as it seemed. 

“Why?” Buddy demanded. 

“Because,” said Carrots, “five of her games have 
been against the five weakest teams in the league.” 

At that Buddy broke into a joyous whistle. He 
thought that things were surely “breaking” for him. 

During the afternoon he met Schuyler. He tried 
to say that the visit to Carrots had been pretty 
white, but the pitcher cut him short. 

“Carrots is back,” Schuyler said. “There’s been 
a lot of talk about what you could have done with 
him. Now it’s up to you to win your games.” 

“It’s up to all of us,” Buddy said. He was a bit 
disappointed. He had planned to be very friendly, 
and he had thought that Schuyler would meet him 
half way. 

Not until practice time next day did he tell that 
Carrots was coming back. Then he tried to make 
the announcement a matter-of-fact affair. The play- 
164 


* SCHUYLER ANSWERS A QUESTION 

ers received the news with cheers, but not a sound 
came from Schuyler. Buddy's face clouded. Had 
Schuyler gone to the coach merely because he 
thought it was the right thing to do, and was he 
going to be, in everything else, the same old thorn 
in the flesh of the nine? 

Quite a bit of student resentment seemed to have 
died during the Gates game. Today there was a 
large turnout. Carrots’s appearance was the signal 
for an outburst of noise. The huckster boy grinned 
and looked somewhat embarrassed. 

At once he took charge of the pitching. He 
showed Schuyler how to use the body swing, and 
Schuyler began. He tried to pitch his fadeaway. 

‘‘Here!” cried Carrots. “Cut it. No curves. 
Time for that when you get the motion.” 

So all during the work Schuyler threw nothing 
but straight balls and tried for form. Not once 
did he speak. He was as stiff and silent as though 
he was practicing with strangers. 

When the pitching ended and Carrots took charge 
of the fielding, he drew on a sweater and retreated 
to one side. There he remained, a lonely figure. 

Ordinarily, he was quite a talker in the field 
house. Whenever a debate arose over a play his 
was the loudest voice. Today, though, he had noth- 
ing to say. He dressed and got out, and some of 
the players looked after him and shook their heads 
and wondered what was wrong with him. 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


Next day he continued to go through the mo- 
tions Carrots had taught him, again, and again, 
and again. When the work was over and he 
dressed a student came to the field house door. 
After a hesitating moment the boy stepped over the 
threshold. 

A dozen eyes swung around to watch Schuyler. 
The pitcher made no protest. The student said he 
had an offer from the Weekly Sentinel, published 
at front own, to write half a column about the 
nine. 

‘"You’ll give me the right dope, won’t you, Bud- 
dy?” he asked. 

The captain said he would. 

The boy withdrew. Pilgrim walked to the door. 
The sign barring students was still there. 

‘T guess this is about over, isn’t it?” he asked. 
He laid one hand on the paper. 

Here and there heads nodded. Schuyler said 
nothing. Pilgrim tore down the sign. 

By morning the news had run through the school. 
Buddy, catching a sudden inspiration, posted a no- 
tice calling a special meeting of the athletic asso- 
ciation for 12 :45 o’clock, fifteen minutes before 
afternoon classes. The nine was scheduled to play 
Hasbrouck that day and there would be no time 
for a meeting after school. What he had to say 
had to be said before the game. 

Almost every student was in the assembly room 

i66 


SCHUYLER ANSWERS A QUESTION 


when, at the appointed hour, he arose to speak. 

“Fellows,’’ he said, “we all make mistakes. The 
nine has made them. I have made them. You have 
made them. Let’s forget all that and start 
afresh. 

“One-third of the schedule has been played and 
we’re only two games behind first place. Irontown 
has won five out of six, and five of her games have 
been against tail-enders. She won’t do as well as 
that in her next six games. But we’ll do better in 
our next six games than we have done in the first 
six. We’re going to gain.” 

Cheers from the students. 

“Carrots is with us again,” Buddy went on. 
“You know what that means. But Carrots can’t 
do it all, and the nine can’t do it all. You fellows 
must help. You must get behind the nine. You 
must support it. You must cheer it on from the 
first pitched ball to the last out. Will you?” 

A chorus of shouts arose from the floor. Boys 
jumped up and waved their hands and yelled that 
Fairview wanted the pennant. Poole banged for 
order, but it was no use. The germ of enthusiasm 
had caught the meeting. They would probably 
have cheered all afternoon had not the class bell 
sounded and sent them to their rooms. 

Schuyler went to his class with a scowl on his 
face. He thought that belittling Irontown’s vic- 
tories was mighty cheap. Regardless of whom she 
167 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


had played, Irontown had won five games. This 
talk of Fairview’s winning a pennant was all right. 
He’d like nothing better than to win a string of 
games that would give Fairview a pennant. But 
how in the name of common sense could Fairview 
do it? 

The students came to the game that afternoon, 
not in ones or twos, but in cheering column fours. 
While they sang Fairview’s school hymn. Buddy 
spoke to the players in the field house. 

‘Tellows,” he said, ‘‘we ought to beat Has- 
brouck. If we do, we’re going up. Irontown plays 
Saddle River, and no matter which team wins, it 
helps us. Brunswick plays Lackawanna. She’s lost 
five straight. She’s about due. Garrison plays 
Pompton. She’s lost six straight and she’s over- 
due. Win this game today, and tonight I’ll 
show you a big change in the standing of the 
clubs.” 

“We’ll win it,” yelled Neale. “Clear the way, 
there, and let’s get at them.” 

Fairview charged out on the field brimming over 
with pepper and ginger. And when the game started 
she tore into Hasbrouck in the same way. Before 
the third inning was over she had scored seven 
runs, and after that the contest was never in doubt. 
For Arthur Stone, calm and smiling, was pitching 
the brand of ball that had already beaten Brunswick 
and Garrison. 

i68 


SCHUYLER ANSWERS A QUESTION 


Carrots sat beside Buddy on the bench. When 
the game was over, he spoke just one sentence. 

‘"Keep on playing the way you played today,” 
he said, '‘and Irontown or any other school won't 
stop you.” 

Schuyler smiled. He was glad that the nine had 
won ; but beating Hasbrouck was not beating Iron- 
town — not so that you could notice it. 

In the field house, after the game, there was 
scarcely room enough to dress. But for all that it 
was a jovial crowd. Students crowded the players, 
and players pushed students out of the way when 
the pressure became too great. 

By degrees, though, the students calmed down 
and departed. At last only players were in the 
place. 

The Hasbrouck boys packed their grips and 
prepared to go home. The Hasbrouck captain 
shook hands with Buddy. 

"We've played Irontown and Lackawanna and 
Pompton,” he said distinctly. "You have a team 
here that's as good as any.” 

Schuyler gave him a quick, startled look. The 
other players broke out with excited talk. The 
Hasbrouck boys departed. Buddy stood in the 
doorway and looked after them, a great new hope 
in his eyes. 

"How about finding out how the other games 
went?” said Neale. 

169 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


Buddy swung around from the doorway and said 
that he was ready. 

A new candy and ice-cream shop had been opened 
on Main Street and it had a pay-station telephone. 
Down to this store the nine went. 

‘"Say,” said Neale, '"why couldn’t we give Iron- 
town the number of that ’phone and tell them that 
any time they wanted information about our games 
that would be the place to call.” 

"Maybe the storekeeper wouldn’t want to bother,” 
said Pilgrim. 

"Shucks!” scoffed Neale. "He’s after business, 
isn’t he?” 

The second-baseman proved to be right. The 
storekeeper would be only too glad to answer ques- 
tions if somebody would bring him the score as 
soon as the game was over. 

"There!” Neale cried triumphantly. "That much 
is settled. Now, Buddy, get Irontown.” 

Buddy called a number. A minute later, when 
he began to speak, the players became quiet. First 
he gave Irontown the number of the telephone and 
told them of the arrangement the nine had made. 
Next he asked for that day’s results. 

Neale took a paper from his pocket and laid it 
on an ice-cream table. 

"Call it to me. Buddy, as you get it,” he said. 

The captain nodded. An instant later he spoke: 

"Garrison beat Pompton.” 

170 


SCHUYLER ANSWERS A QUESTION 


‘‘Gee whiz!’" breathed a delighted voice. 

Neale’s pencil made a note, 

“Bloomfield beat Gates.” 

Silence among the players. They weren’t inter- 
ested in that game. 

“Brunswick beat Lackawanna.” 

This time there was almost a yell. Neale frowned 
and shook his head for quiet. 

“And Irontown beat Saddle River,” Buddy fin- 
ished. “Thank you.” He hung up the receiver. 

Instantly a clamor broke out. If Lackawanna 
and Pompton had lost Fairview ought to go up, 

and with Saddle River defeated, too Say, what 

changes did that make? 

“Just a minute, fellows,” Buddy pleaded. “Wait 
until we figure it.” 

Soon the new standing of the league was ready: 

W. L. PC. W. L. PC. 

Irontown 6 i .857 Pompton 4 3 .571 

Lackawanna ... 5 2 .714 Gates 3 4 .428 

Fairview 4 3 .571 Hasbrouck 2 5 .285 

Saddle River. . . 4 3 .571 Brunswick 2 5 .265 

Bloomfield 4 3 .571 Garrison i 6 .142 

Fairview in third place! The clamor became 
wild. 

Schuyler walked out of the shop. He was not 
excited. Of course, Fairview had won a tidy vic- 
tory that day, but — there it was — but Irontown had 
171 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


won, too. How was Fairview ever going to make 
much headway if Irontown kept on winning game 
after game? 

Next day Schuyler came out resigned to his fate 
of pitching straight balls with a body swing behind 
them. When Carrots came over to watch him he 
thought nothing of that for Carrots watched him 
every practice day. But this time, after a few 
minutes, the coach gave a chuckle. 

‘‘You’ve got it, old man,” he said. 

Schuyler glanced back at him. “The body 
swing?” 

“Sure ; it doesn’t seem so stiff and awkward now, 
does it?” 

Schuyler pitched another straight ball and ex- 
perimented. No; the motion came a whole lot 
easier. 

“Suppose you try your curve,” said Carrots. 

The pitcher felt like a boy who has. been re- 
leased from prison. He wound up and threw. It 
was his celebrated fadeaway, but it faded so little 
that it could not be said to have faded at all. His 
face lengthened. 

“Easy, there,” said Carrots. “Can the gloomy 
stuff. You’ll have to get used to handling your 
curves just as you got used to handling the straight 
ball. Keep at it.” 

Schuyler kept at it until Buddy said enough. 
He was sent to the box and told to try straight balls 
172 


SCHUYLER ANSWERS A QUESTION 


on the batters. While he worked he reflected 
gloomily that he would certainly not get his curves 
working well enough to pitch next Saturday against 
Pompton. And the game after that was against 
Irontown. Surely they wouldn’t trust him with 
that. It began to seem to him as though he was 
fated for a long spell of idleness. Perhaps it would 
have been just as well had he stuck to his arm mo- 
tion. At least he would then have pitched in his 
turn. 

In the field house, when the work was over, 
Buddy took him aside and told him that Arthur 
would hurl the next. He gave a short nod and 
said nothing. Buddy looked at him anxiously. 

"'We don’t want to use you, Schuyler, until you 
have your body swing down pat.” 

‘"Oh, that’s all right,” said Schuyler. 

But Buddy knew that it wasn’t all right. “Car- 
rots,” he amended, “says that you ought to be ready 
in about four or five more days.” 

Schuyler gave a wise smile. He was quite sure 
that Carrots had said nothing of the kind. The 
way his curves had behaved that day it would take 
him a year, he thought, to amount to anything. 
He wondered if all this was a game to put him on 
the shelf. He didn’t want to think it, but he could 
not push the thought away. 

He went back to his hooks and dressed with the 
same silence that had characterized him since his 

173 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


trip to Carrots^s house. Buddy, watching, shook his 
head and sighed. 

That night he hunted up Carrots. The coach 
puckered his eyes. 

‘‘You can't tell about these fiery chaps," he said. 
“He may think we’re trying to slip something over 
on him or he may just have a grouch. Wait until 
we see which it is." 

“But if he throws us down, Carrots " 

“Shucks!" said the huckster boy. “I guess Ar- 
thur Stone can pitch a few extra licks if he has 
to." 

But Buddy knew that Arthur could not pitch two 
games a week. And he knew that Carrots knew it, 
too. 

Next day he watched Schuyler alf through the 
practice. He did not know where he was. On 
the one hand, Schuyler pitched heart and soul, try- 
ing, trying, trying to get his curves to break right. 
That was a good sign. On the other hand, the 
pitcher spoke to nobody, went his way alone, seemed 
to have forgotten that he had any friends among 
the players. That was bad, very bad. 

In truth, Schuyler was altogether out of sorts. 
He was impatient to see the ball breaking with 
its old sharp bend, and when it didn’t he became 
discouraged. 

Then, too, he could not find it in his heart to 
take part in all this wild talk about Fairview’s 

174 


SCHUYLER ANSWERS A QUESTION 


chances. He wanted to believe it. He honestly 
wanted to — ^now. But he couldn’t. 

Saturday the nine went to Pompton. Carrots 
went along and so did Schuyler. He had thought 
that he would be left at home, but he had been 
told to make the trip. 

During the ride over there was much excited talk. 
The schedule of games for that day distinctly fa- 
vored Fairview. Lackawanna and Irontown, the 
leaders, were pitted against each other. No matter 
which team won, Fairview would gain if she won. 
And there was great hope that she would win be- 
cause Pompton was showing signs of weakening. 
Lackawanna had beaten her a week ago, and Wed- 
nesday she had been beaten by Garrison, the tail- 
ender. 

Nor was this all. Saddle River and Bloomfield, 
tied with Fairview, were playing against each other. 
In other words, the six leading teams were all claw- 
ing each other, and the three nines that won would 
surely climb in the league standing. It was such 
a chance as might never come again. 

Almost every one of the players hoped that Iron- 
town would be beaten. Her record of only one 
game lost out of eight played was beginning to look 
ominous. She had to be pulled back. 

Schuyler turned his head away and smiled. But 
he did not turn it far enough, and Buddy saw the 
corners of his mouth. The captain’s hands clenched. 

175 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


Great Scott, was Schuyler still daffy about his old 
school? Did he still carry a divided allegiance? 
Buddy had thought that that was all over. Was 
this the reason that Schuyler held aloof ? 

‘^Try to get the jump on Pompton,” Carrots ad- 
vised him. ‘‘She’s lost twice, and if the third team 
starts to pound her, she may lose her nerve.” 

Buddy nodded in a preoccupied way. His 
thoughts were on Schuyler, not on the game. 

But the moment the stage reached Pompton his 
mind came back to the business in hand. He hus- 
tled the players to the Pompton dressing-room, 
hustled them to the field, and then got the practice 
running with plenty of zest. After that he warmed 
up Arthur and Schuyler. From the ways the play- 
ers had fielded and from the way Arthur’s delivery 
behaved, he was sure that he would have no ex- 
cuses to offer if Fairview was beaten. 

As the visiting nine, Fairview went first to bat. 
Pilgrim went out on a sharp rap to the short- 
stop, Hill was called out on strikes, and McCarter 
scratched a fluke hit to the third-baseman. With 
Neale at bat, McCarter got the signal to go down. 
His slide, as he neared second base, was nicely ex- 
ecuted, but the ball got there ahead of him and 
the umpire ruled him out. Pompton was playing 
good ball. 

“Hold them, now,” Carrots urged. 

Arthur’s first ball was spanked to right field for a 
176 


SCHUYLER ANSWERS A QUESTION 


single. The next batter walked. Things looked 
bad for the Blue and White. 

And then came a play that left Pompton gasping. 
The batter met the ball squarely, and the runners 
tore away. Buddy gave a frightened gulp. 

Yost — big, lanky Yost — saw a streak of white. 
Instinctively he leaped into the air, and his height 
and reach were put to good use. The ball struck 
his glove and stayed there. 

‘‘Come back !” screamed the Pompton coaches. 

Yost scrambled to first base and touched the bag. 
The boy who had started so joyously for second 
was out. 

“Here!’’ yelled Neale. ^‘Herer 

Yost whipped the ball to second for the com- 
pletion of a glorious triple play. 

The Pompton team was dazed. Laughing and 
capering the Fairview boys ran to their bench. 

“Now’s the time,” cried Carrots. “You have 
them up in the air. Go after the first good ball 
that comes up. Soak it to them while they’re off 
their feet. You, Neale; murder the first ball that 
comes over.” 

Neale strolled to the plate and waited. He was 
Fairview’s star hitter. The bench watched him 
breathlessly. He let the first pitch go by, but the 
second was to his liking. His big black bat swung 
out, and the ball hit the turf out in left center. It 
was a two-base blow. 


177 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


‘^Now, Yost!” Carrots had taken command. 
‘‘No bunting. This isn’t the time to play for one 
run. Go after him.” 

Yost hit a grounder right at the shortstop. Neale 
started for third, swung around in his tracks and 
made back for second. 

“Come on, Neale,” yelled Pilgrim, coaching at 
third. 

The rattled shortstop had allowed the ball to go 
through his legs. Neale romped home, and Yost 
pulled up at second. 

“Now a bunt,” cried Carrots. “They’re gone. 
Now a bunt to tie them in knots. You, Carlson; a 
bunt.” 

Carlson’s bunt went straight at the pitcher. The 
boy’s nerves, however, were all on edge. He picked 
up the ball, dropped it, picked it up again, dropped 
it and then booted it toward third base. 

Carrots sat back. “Hit any old thing,” he said. 
“They’re through.” 

Pompton’s nerve was broken. While the pitcher 
held the ball, Carlson sneaked down to second. On 
Linquist’s hit he and Yost came home. Three runs 
in and none out. 

Two more runs were scored before the agony was 
over.' The second inning started with Arthur Stone 
taking things very easy. 

Two hours later the game was over. Pompton 
had never been dangerous. 

178 


SCHUYLER ANSWERS A QUESTION 

'Wow!’’ cried Neale. "Now let’s see what hap- 
pened around the rest of the league.” 

They called Irontown before taking the stage, 
but Irontown did not yet have the results. They told 
how their own game had gone and then started their 
journey homeward. 

Arriving at Fairview, they found a crowd of 
students waiting. 

"How did the game go, Buddy?” arose a cry. 

Buddy stood up in the stage. "We won, fel- 
lows.” 

"Yah ! Irontown next ! We’ll show them.” 

Schuyler smiled again. 

As though by a common consent the nine walked 
to the candy shop and poured in through the door- 
way. The students followed. 

"Oh, hold on,” cried Neale. "Have a heart! 
The whole school can’t come in just to hear a fellow 
telephone.” 

The students took no offense. Jostling and scur- 
rying they thronged out to the sidewalk. The play- 
ers were left alone. 

"Believe me,” said Pilgrim, "if Lackawanna has 
beaten Irontown my supper will taste better.” 

"It must have been some fight,” came from Carl- 
son. "If Lackawanna won she’s tied for first 
place.” 

The talk ran from player to player. Was Iron- 
town really as strong as her string of victories 
179 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


seemed to prove ? Somebody appealed to Schuyler, 
but the pitcher evaded the question. Buddy's hands 
clenched again. 

The captain gave central the number he wanted. 
Once more Neale spread paper on an ice-cream 
table and waited. i 

“Hello!” said Buddy. “This is Fairview. I'm 
ready. Go ahead. Saddle River beat Bloomfield. 
Yes; I got that. Garrison won from Brunswick. 
Go on. Hasbrouck defeated Gates. Irontown won 
from Lackawanna.” 

“Good night !” said a voice. “Are they ever go- 
ing to lose?” 

Buddy heard the question. He did not want his 
players to fall into that mood. He had an idea that, 
if he looked around quickly, he would see Schuyler 
with that wise, I-knew-it sort of smile. 

“Can you give me the score ?” Buddy asked. “All 
right; let’s have it. Lackawanna, two; Iron- 

town What's that? What? Irontown twen- 

ty~onef^ 

“Holy Mackerel!” breathed a voice. ^^Twenty- 
one 

Buddy put down the receiver. If Irontown could 

do that to her strongest rival He pushed the 

thought aside. He had to swing the minds of his 
players before they could begin to wonder what 
Irontown might do to them. For their game with 
Irontown came next. 


i8o 


SCHUYLER ANSWERS A QUESTION 


He turned briskly from the telephone. There 
was Schuyler nodding his head as though he was 
not at all surprised. 

‘'Good night !” said the pitcher. “Seven won and 
one lost. That about gives her the pennant.^’ 

Buddy’s head grew hot. Was this the way for a 
Fairview player to act in the crisis? He saw a 
thoughtful look come into the eyes of Hill and Lin- 
cjuist and McCarter. And then, almost imper- 
ceptibly, he saw McCarter’s head nod, too. 

At that, for the moment, he lost all command of 
himself. Without waiting to think, without weigh- 
ing his words, he pushed past Neale and confronted 
the pitcher. 

“Schuyler,” he demanded, “who are you rooting 
for, Fairview or Irontown?” 

Instantly a startled, breathless silence settled over 
the room. Schuyler’s face went white. 

Carrots frowned and shook his head. This was 
bad. He tried to save the situation. 

“Oh,” he said, trying to speak lightly, “I guess 
Schuyler doesn’t mean ” 

“I’ll do my own talking,” said the pitcher. His 
voice shook a little. “I’m a Fairview fellow. I’m 
a Fairview rooter. I want Fairview to win. 

But ” He drew back a step and faced them. 

“But I’m no fool!” 

“Right over the plate,” Carrots murmured softly. 

Schuyler turned on his heel and walked toward 

i8i 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


the door. At the candy counter he paused and 
bought a bar of chocolate. He appeared to be calm 
and quite the master of himself, but his blood was 
‘boiling. He waited for his change, put it in his 
pocket, and went out. 

Back in the store nobody spoke. A minute 
passed. Then, muttering that they had to get home 
for supper, the players drifted out. And the notes 
that Neale had made remained on the ice-cream 
table, forgotten. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE FIRST THRILL 

W HEN Buddy and Carrots came out of the 
candy shop, the students were still wait- 
ing. 

‘'Did Irontown score twenty-one runs?’^ a voice 
demanded. 

Buddy said she had. A murmur ran through the 
crowd. The captain pushed through and walked 
away with the coach. 

He was sore and angry — at himself. That scene 
in the shop had been the height of folly. Many 
times he had restrained himself when the impulse 
had come to go to the pitcher and talk boy to boy. 
And now he had done something far worse — he 
had clashed with Schuyler where the whole nine 
could hear what was said. 

He looked over at Carrots. The huckster boy's 
eyes were grave. 

“Bad business, Buddy," he said. 

The captain knew it. 

“This thing of flying off the handle You 

shouldn't have done that. It never pays to talk 
while you're hot. It's the same as a pitcher on the 

183 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


mound. If he loses his head and starts to slam the 
ball, he’s gone. And if a fellow loses his head and 
begins to talk loose, he’s gone, too.” 

Buddy nodded miserably. “But I’m the captain,” 
he said, “and I’ve had to stand for all Schuyler’s 
trouble making.” 

“That’s why you should have kept quiet,” said 
Carrots. 

Buddy stared. “Because he made trouble?” 

“No; no. Because you’re the captain. The fel- 
lows have elected you. You’re at the top. Every- 
thing you do is watched. You set the pace. If 
you keep a cool head, the whole nine keeps a cool 
head. And if you start to get rattly, the whole 
nine rattles.” 

Buddy saw that Carrots’s logic was sound. He 
had not only failed himself, but he had failed the 
nine and the school. Whatever resentment against 
Schuyler had smoldered would now burst forth. 
It was a pretty mess he had made of things. Never 
again, he vowed, would he lose his temper and 
talk like an idiot. 

“The worst part of this whole business,” he said 
gloomily, “is that shot Schuyler made about not 
being a fool.” 

“He surely stood up to his guns,” Carrots ad- 
mitted. “Now the ^question is how many of the 
fellows think Irontown is going to beat us next 
Wednesday?” 


184 


THE FIRST THRILL 


Buddy was frightened. If Irontown won, she’d 
be three full games ahead. Such a lead, with only 
nine games left to play, would almost be unbeat- 
able. 

Oh, how he regretted his haste! Schuyler had 
professed loyalty and in the same breath had pro- 
claimed bluntly that Fairview could not win. How 
many of the players had he convinced? One or 
two, perhaps; certainly no more. How many had 
he filled with the first seeds of doubt? Oh! there 
was the sore spot. 

And what would happen when Schuyler came to 
the practice tomorrow, and the day after that, and 
the day after that? 

Would there be quarreling and dissension and 
strife? 

‘Tt’s my own fault,” Buddy reflected bitterly, 
^Tor losing my head.” 

Carrots, watching his face, made a shrewd guess 
as to what was passing in his mind. He believed 
in looking bad situations in the eye, but he did not 
believe in worrying once the situation had been 
analyzed. Now he tried to soothe the captain’s 
fears. 

‘‘You’re sorry for what you said. Buddy, aren’t 
you?” 

Buddy nodded. 

“Well, how do you know that Schuyler isn’t sorry 
for what he said.” 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


‘That’s so,” Buddy muttered thoughtfully. His 
face brightened. 

But Schuyler was not in the least in a penitential 
mood. At home he was storming about his bed- 
room, throwing books around and now and then 
punching angrily at the pillows on the bed. 

‘The nerve of him,” he broke out once. “Mak- 
ing a mark of me in front of the fellows. I told 
him. They are fools. Their old nine hasn’t a 
Chinaman’s chance.” 

When supper was ready he went downstairs to 
the dining-room. His bitter mood still held him. 
He jerked his napkin angrily and almost upset a 
glass of water. 

“Schuyler!” said his mother. 

He mumbled an apology and then glanced, cow- 
eyed, at his father. Mr. Arch spoke quietly. 

“Remember where you are, Schuyler.” 

He ate his meal in a gloomy silence. When the 
family arose from the table his father asked him 
to come into the library. Together they entered 
the room. Mr. Arch sank into the depths of a 
wide, comfortable chair and motioned the boy to a 
seat. 

“There’s something on your mind, Schuyler, isn’t 
there ?” 

Schuyler nodded. 

“Out with it and let’s see if it’s as bad as you 
think it.” 


i86 


THE FIRST THRILL 


Schuyler, his cheeks red, blurted what had 
happened in the candy shop. 

Mr. Arch put his hands behind his head and 
leaned back in the chair. 

‘'You haven’t liked it here,” he said. “Are you 
sure you haven’t carried around a chip on your 
shoulder ?” 

‘T told them how cheap the school was.” 

“Cheap?” Mr. Arch’s voice was thoughtful. 

“Well, it is cheap,” Schuyler argued. “They 
have nothing. They think they can beat schools 
like Irontown ” 

“Don’t you think so ?” 

“No, sir.” 

“Then why do you object to being asked who 
you were rooting for ?” 

“Because I want Fairview to win.” 

“Do you ?” Mr. Arch asked. After a moment he 
said : “Let us look at this another way. How do 
you pick your friends, by what they have and by 
what they wear?” 

“No, sir; if a fellow is a good fellow he’s all 
right.” 

“Then why look down upon Fairview because 
she’s a poor school ?” 

Schuyler ran his hands back and forth over the 
arms of his chair. 

“It isn’t that they have nothing,” he blurted. 
“Everybody seems satisfied to have nothing.” 

187 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


‘Terhaps they’re satisfied because they realize 
Fairview can’t have big improvements.” 

‘'But if they’d try to get things like Iron- 
town ” 

“Schuyler,” his father broke in, “I’m afraid you 
came to Fairview in a bad spirit. If you haven’t 
got along with the students, it’s because of your own 
actions. I know you, son. One reason I was glad 
to come here was because I thought you were get- 
ting too cocky at Irontown. I thought that here 
was a little country school that would make you hu- 
man. Instead, I find you developing into a sulker 
— and something worse.” 

“Something worse?” Schuyler asked in surprise. 

“A boy who can’t be loyal,” his father an- 
swered. 

Schuyler did not lift his eyes. Moment by mo- 
ment he felt his face grow hotter. He had not 
bargained for anything like this. He had expected 
sympathy. 

“When you came to Fairview,” Mr. Arch went 
on, “you were through with Irontown. Every ounce 
of your support should have gone to your new 
school. Instead, I’m afraid you’ve been casting 
Irontown into the faces of your Fairview friends. 
You have failed to see the big truth — it isn’t what a 
school has that counts ; it’s what she gives. Aren’t 
the Fairview standards as high as at Irontown — 
I mean standards of honor?” 

i88 


THE FIRST THRILL 


Schuyler thought of Buddy, and Yost, and of 
Ahrens. 

''Yes, sir,'’ he muttered. 

"Yet, just because the high school isn’t built of 

granite By the way, where does Fairview stand 

in the baseball league?” 

"She’s tied for second place.” 

"Who is first?” 

"Irontown.” 

"Has she a big lead?” 

"Two games.” 

"Two games.” Mr. Arch stood up and walked 
to a book case and ran his eyes over the titles. 
But instead of taking a volume, he swung back to- 
ward the boy. "By all accounts a school like Fair- 
view should be last. She is poor ; she is cheap ; she 
has nothing. And yet she is second. Why, son, 
your school has done nobly. Can’t you see that 
she should be honored for holding such a high 
place?” 

Schuyler did not answer. 

"How many games has the nine won?” 

"Five.” 

"How many did you win?” 

"One; they — they didn’t let me finish that.” 

"Why?” 

"I was weakening.” He did not tell about Car- 
rots. 

"And so,” said Mr. Arch, "not content with' 
189 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


grouching and sulking, you have not even given 
the nine your best.’" 

Schuyler sprang to his feet. ‘‘Oh, but I have, 
father.” 

“You can’t give your best when your heart isn’t 
in it,” Mr. Arch answered. He placed his hands 
on the boy’s shoulders. “My son, your loyalty is 
weak, and loyalty is a glorious virtue. You must 
forget Irontown. You must forget the expensive 
things that Irontown has. If a group of men, 
illy-trained, un-drilled, seize muskets and heroically 
fight an army that has all the advantages, we ad- 
mire those men and history writes their names big. 
Don’t you see that what made them was courage 
and loyalty? Here we have a school nine that is 
not drilled and trained as other nines are trained. 
Yet it fights and holds its ground. Doesn’t that 
thrill you, son?” 

Schuyler’s head sank on his breast. 

“Doesn’t it?” his father asked. 

“No, sir,” he answered faintly. 

The man sighed. “Schuyler,” he said, “you are 
missing the best thing that Fairview has to give 
you.” 

The interview was over. Schuyler went out. 
Upstairs in his room he tried to calm himself and 
work at his books, biTt the room seemed cramped 
— far too cramped for his thoughts. He caught 
up his cap and hurried outdoors. 

190 


THE FIRST THRILL 


In some way he felt that he had disappointed his 
father. And yet he did not see why this should 
be. Was it his fault if he couldn’t be in sympathy 
with Fairview’s ways? 

His father’s charge that he had not given his best 
stung him. Perhaps the whole school thought it. 
Perhaps that was what had been in Buddy’s mind. 
His anger, which had been chilled by that talk in 
the library, now flamed again. He’d ask Buddy 
the moment he saw him. Nobody was going to 
spread a story like that. 

Next morning, on his way to school, he overtook 
the captain. Buddy, apprehensive of a clash, pre- 
pared himself to hold his tongue in check. The least 
said would be the soonest mended. 

‘‘Look here,” Schuyler began, “do you think I’m 
pitching to lose?” 

“No.” Buddy’s answer was emphatic. “Who 
said that ?” 

“Nobody. They had better not say it. But you 
— you’re not satisfied.” 

“I want you to pitch as a Fairview fellow,” 
Buddy answered. 

“I have.” 

“No; you haven’t, Schuyler. You can’t when 
your heart isn’t in it.” 

Here were almost the words his father had used. 
He tried to make some denial, and couldn’t. In- 
stead, he asked sulkily: 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


you want me to quit ?’* 

Buddy shook his head. No; he certainly did not 
want that. 

‘Why/' Schuyler asked, with a touch of the old 
arrogance. He must be valuable if the captain 
wanted him to stay after what had happened in 
the candy shop. 

“Because Arthur is our only pitcher if you go/' 
Buddy answered simply. 

The answer was not what Schuyler had expected, 
and it did not please him in the least. In fact, it 
stung him. He thought that it was a hint that, 
were pitchers plentiful at Fairview, nobody would 
care what he did. 

During morning classes he decided that he would 
quit. But when the time for practice came he went 
to the field house and got into uniform. Some of 
the players looked at him queerly, but nobody 
made any reference to what had happened last 
night. 

Buddy had posted one league standing on the 
bulletin board. Now he tacked another to the wall 
of the field house: 

W. L. PC. W. L. PC. 

Irontown 7 i. .875 Pompton 4 4 .500 

Lackawanna ... 5 3 .625 Hasbrouck 3 5 .375 

Fairview 5 3 .625 Gates 3 5 .375 

Saddle River.. . 5 3 .625 Brunswick 2 6 .250 

Bloomfield 4 4 .500 Garrison 2 6 .250 

192 


THE FmST THRILL 


Schuyler worked that day as he had worked for 
the past week — cold, silent, unapproachable. Car- 
rots, watching him use his body swing, suddenly 
called for Buddy’s glove. He put it on, pushed the 
captain out of the way, and signaled for Schuyler’s 
fadeaway. 

Five minutes later Carrots took off the glove. 
He did not say whether the pitching had been good, 
bad or indifferent, and Schuyler did not ask. 

Buddy tried to read Carrots’s face, but the huck- 
ster boy’s countenance was a mask. Something was 
up. That much was certain. The captain shook his 
head as though to throw off unpleasant thoughts, 
and turned his attention to the infield practice. Car- 
rots would probably tell him later. 

There was plenty happening on the infield today 
to give him worry. Neale, ordinarily a sure fielder, 
was missing ball after ball. Yost seemed unable 
to hold the leather when it was thrown to him. And 
Hill and McCarter threw wild time and again. 

Carrots labored with a tireless zeal. Not once 
did he scold. Always his voice carried an encourag- 
ing word to the player who had fozzled. Buddy 
grit his teeth and tried not to think that the Iron- 
town game was next — and at Irontown, too. 

When it came time for hitting practice, Schuy- 
ler was sent to the mound. At once the wildness 
left the fielding and took possession of the bat- 
ting. The boys swung at anything, and instead of 

193 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


the calculating punch they had been taught to use, 
they went at the ball with wild, heavy lunges. 

Buddy was in despair. Apparently the nine had 
gone to pieces. Tortured and harassed, he felt hot, 
violent words tremble on his lips. He held them 
back. He had had one lesson as to what an un- 
bridled tongue could do. And besides, there was 
Carrots smiling, cheerful, never once showing what 
he must have felt. 

The ghastly work came to an end at last. The 
players trooped to the field house. Carrots and 
Buddy remained on the field. 

‘‘Scared,” Carrots said briefly; “just plain 
scared.” 

“Of Irontown?” Buddy asked. 

“Of twenty-one runs,” Carrots answered, “and of 
Schuyler’s few «.ind words that he’s not a fool.” 

Schuyler ! Buddy’s muscles twitched. Every way 
he had turned since the season started Schuyler had 
been a stumbling block. 

“We’ve got to beat Irontown,” Carrots said 
grimly. “This is getting to be a three-team race. 
Irontown, Lackawanna and Fairview! They’re the 
nines that will be in at the finish. Saddle River 
doesn’t count. She’s lost some of her best players 
and she’s going fast. Oh, I know she’s won two 
of her last five, but one of those two victories was 
against poor old Garrison. Every team is beating 
Garrison.” 


194 


THE FIRST THRILL 


The huckster boy had begun to walk across the 
field. Buddy kept step with him. It was all right 
to talk of beating Irontown, but how was it going 
to be done with the nine all shot to pieces? 

‘Tf we beat Irontown/’ Carrots went on, fin- 
ish the first half of the race one game behind. I 
know this Irontown bunch. They’ve been breezing 
along in the lead and probably thinking they have 
everything their own way. If we stop them now, 
they’re going to have something to think about. 
They’re going to worry, and a worried team never 
plays as good a game as the team that thinks it 
can’t be stopped. If we beat Irontown Wednesday 
our chances of landing that pennant go up fifty 
per cent. If we lose ” 

“Yes?” Buddy asked. 

“I’d sell our chances for a nickel.” 

The captain shivered. Why couldn’t the big mo- 
ment have come at some other time? 

“There’s one way to go after that game,” Car- 
rots said abruptly. “Use Schuyler.” 

“Schuyler?” 

Buddy’s glove fell from his hands. Was Carrots 
mad? 

“It’s the play,” the coach insisted. “I caught 
him today. He’s right. I don’t mean he’s master 
of that body swing, but he has it good enough to 
get past. In the pinches he can use his old arm 
movement. He won’t tire. He’ll last.” 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


‘‘But against Irontown, Carrots, when he thinks 
Irontpwn ” 

“He thinks we’re sore on him, too. Suppose we 
tell him we’re going to trust him with the Irontown 
game ?” 

“Oh!” Buddy saw it then. But it was risky, 
frightfully risky. This game meant so much. He 
looked at Carrots doubtful, undecided. 

“The nine is scared,” the huckster boy argued. 
“If the game is going to go it will go, anyway. We 
have everything to gain. If Schuyler comes through 
and wins, the nine will throw up its heels. They 
will figure that Schuyler’s old hoodoo has been 

killed. And as for Schuyler What will it 

do to him. Buddy?” 

The captain did not know. 

“It will give him a different feeling toward the 
school, won’t it, being trusted so much?” 

The captain did not know that, either. 

“Here,” said Carrots. “Just now we’re up in the 
air. If everything goes along in routine we’ll stay 
up in the air. You saw them today. Something 
must happen to give them a jolt. After what Schuy- 
ler said the other day, don’t you think they’d be 
jolted if they heard he was going to pitch?” 

Buddy nodded. There was no question but that 
they would be jolted. But would it do any good ? 

“It’s up to you,” said Carrots. “I’m going to 
the field house.” 


196 


THE FIRST THRILL 


Buddy was left out on the field. For a long time 
he stood with his head bent deep in thought. Then, 
abruptly, he followed after the coach. 

Most of the players were dressed when he reached 
the house. Schuyler was off in a comer by him- 
self. Buddy paused in the door. 

‘‘Schuyler!’^ 

The pitcher looked up. Was this going to be 
another public reprimand? 

‘'Carrots says you have the body swing now. 
Fm going to use you Wednesday against Iron- 
town.’’ 

A low sound ran about the room. Schuyler con- 
tinued to stand there with his shoulders hunched 
belligerently. After a while his back straightened. 
The shoulders went back. His head was held high. 

“They won’t score twenty-one runs Wednesday,” 
he said. None of the old arrogance now — ^just a 
calm statement of facts. Carrots gave a quick grin. 

In a little while Schuyler went out. He had not 
spoken to the players, and they had not spoken 
to him. As soon as he was gone, they gathered in a 
little knot and whispered. Presently Neale came 
to where Buddy was dressing. 

“Is this right,” he asked, “about Schuyler?” 

Buddy nodded. 

“But if he thinks Irontown has a cinch ” 

“He doesn’t think it,” said Carrots. “He only 
thinks he thinks it.” 


197. 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


'‘But the way he’s been blowing up late in the 
game ” 

“Fellows,” Carrots said earnestly, “he won’t blow 
up at Irontown. You can take my word for it.” 

But the players did not seem inclined to take 
anybody’s word. Here was a situation that had 
them guessing. First a player’s loyalty was ques- 
tioned, then he said the school couldn’t win, then 
he was trusted to pitch against the school he thought 
would win. What could you make of that? 

They went out rather silent and with eyes turned 
away. Carrots and Buddy were left alone. 

“Well?” the captain asked. 

Carrots shook his head. “They were licked the 
way they felt today. There’s a chance now, any- 
way.” 

But next day, when the practice ended, Buddy 
thought that the chance was slim. The fielding had 
been just as wretched. The batting had been just 

as weak. And Schuyler Well, Schuyler had 

been just as silent and distant as before. 

“Wait!” said Carrots. “You can’t tell what’s 
passing through that lad’s head.” 

Could Buddy have seen the working of Schuyler’s 
mind, he would have been encouraged. For Schuy- 
ler had made a grim resolve to win his game. 

School loyalty had no part in his thoughts. It 
was of himself he was thinking. He had been held 
up before the fellows in a bad light. While noth- 
198 


THE FIRST THRILL 


ing had been said to him, he knew from the atmos- 
phere of the field house that he was in disfavor. 
Well, he’d give them something else to think about. 

Next day, though he rode to Irontown with the 
players, he was really not one of them. Buddy had 
a notion to sit next to him and try to make him 
feel at home. But Carrots said no. It would do 
better, he thought, to let the pitcher’s mind run in 
its own channels. 

‘'When you trust a fellow,” he said, “he’s got to 
make good for you if he’s got any white in him at 
all.” 

So the captain turned his attention to the other 
players. It was none too cheerful an outlook. Their 
talk did not ring with confidence. Plainly they were 
still scared. And instead of jolting them into a 
state of hopefulness, Schuyler’s selection seemed to 
have turned their minds on how the pitcher had 
weakened in his other three games. 

“Oh,” Buddy groaned under his breath, “why 
can’t they believe Carrots that he won’t blow up 
today?” 

When the stage reached Irontown the nine 
climbed down and walked toward the granite high 
school building. Schuyler threw back his shoul- 
ders and took a deep breath and trudged along with 
the others. 

In the high school locker-room, where they 
dressed, a cloth sign ran the length of one wall: 

199 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


IRONTOWN, 21 ; LACKAWANNA, 2. 

The boys stared at that sign as though fasci- 
nated. Even Neale was impressed. Very quietly 
they went outdoors and walked toward the field. 

“If they’d only realize that this Irontown nine 
is just a school nine,” Buddy sighed. “We’ve played 
them before.” 

“If they get to realize that,” Carrots answered, 
^‘there’ll be something doing today.” 

On the field, Fairview displayed none of her usual 
zest. When Irontown practiced before the start 
of the game, the players clustered about their bench 
and watched. Soon the shortstop made a fumble. 

“Ah!” said Buddy. “These fellows can fozzle 
just like everybody else.” 

A moment later the third-baseman made a wild 
throw. 

“A little more of it!” Buddy chuckled. “I 
thought these fellows could play ball.” 

The first-baseman dropped a ball that came right 
into his glove. 

• “Well, well, well.” Buddy’s laughter was low 
and merry. “They can drop balls, too, can’t they?” 

Some of the players were smiling. The talk be- 
came a little more eager. 

“Keep it up,” Carrots whispered. “That’s the 
play.” 

Mr. Davis and the Irontown umpire stepped out 
200 


THE FIRST THRILL 


to the diamond. The game was about to start. The 
Irontown pitcher walked to the mound. Pilgrim se- 
lected a bat and looked inquiringly at Buddy. 

‘‘Use your head/^ the captain ordered. “Pick 
out what you want.'' 

Pilgrim hit the second ball along the first-base 
line, and the first-baseman fumbled just long enough 
to miss the play. 

“Hello!" cried Buddy. “That must be an acci- 
dent. Irontown couldn't make an error like an 
ordinary team." 

Neale grinned. “Shucks!" he said. “We've 
beaten better teams than this." 

The captain's blood raced. This was the first re- 
sponse. He sent Hill to the plate with instructions 
to make a fake attempt to bunt and then to hit the 
ball. 

“Gee !" said Carlson. “Irontown won't be fooled 
by a trick as stale as that." 

Hill's attempt to bunt should have convinced any- 
body that he hadn't meant to hit the ball. Buddy 
groaned. But the Irontown team seemed not to 
have noticed the maneuver. When the pitcher 
hurled the ball again, the Irontown third-base- 
man ran in. Hill gave the sphere a vicious wal- 
lop. 

Down the third-base line it flashed. The base- 
man, caught unprepared, made a wild, sidelong 
clutch for it, and missed. 

201 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 

‘'And so this/’ Buddy mocked, "is the team that 
has won seven out of eight.” 

This time almost the whole bench laughed. Iron- 
town, apparently, was only made of common clay 
after all. Discouraged eyes brightened. McCar- 
ter’s infield fly dimmed Fairview’s sudden splurge 
of courage, but Neale’s timely single acted as a 
tonic. Pilgrim scored with the first run, and Fair- 
view students who had come to the game almost 
split their throats. The cheering went on even 
after Yost had hit into a double play and retired the 
side. 

It was now up to Fairview to hold Irontown in 
check. The players hustled out to their places. 
Schuyler arose from the bench. 

"The body swing until you’re in a hole,” said 
Carrots. 

Schuyler nodded, and walked to the box. Some- 
body threw him the ball. He pitched to Buddy un- 
til the batter was ready. Then, with the ball held 
against his chest, he faced the plate, deaf to the 
rattle of talk that came from the Irontown coaches. 

He had always wondered how he would feel if, 
pitching for Fairview, he should face an Irontown 
batter. He had had an idea that he might be fright- 
ened. Instead, a stern resolve to stop this batter 
ran through every nerve and muscle of his body. 
His eyes narrowed craftily. With that long over- 
hand body swing he sent the ball toward his catcher. 

202 


THE FIRST THRILL 


Crack! The batter caught it. Schuyler’s face 
twitched and then was still. He smiled. That ball 
was sailing lazily toward the outfield. Linquist 
caught it when it fell. 

‘‘That’s the way,” yelled the coaches. “We’ll be 
straightening them out in a minute.” 

Schuyler pitched again. This time the ball was 
driven toward McCarter. The shortstop stopped 
it, dropped it, picked it up in a flash and drove 
it at Yost. 

“Out !” ruled the umpire. 

“Horseshoes!” mocked the coaches. “Come on, 
there, old man. Show them where you live.” 

But the Irontown batter must have lived some- 
where in the clouds, for he lifted a high, twisting 
foul. Hill, prancing like a skittish colt, caught it 
midway between third and home. 

The nine came in to the bench. The first inning 
was over and Fairview led. 

“Three pitched balls,” said Carrots. “That’s go- 
ing some, Schuyler.” 

Schuyler quietly sat down and did not even 
smile. 

The second inning passed, and the third and 
fourth. Neither team had scored. Fairview’s nerv- 
ousness was gone. She had held Irontown thus far, 
and she was gradually coming to believe that she 
would hold her to the finish. And Irontown, who 
had started the game full of life and vim, was slowly 
203 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


settling down to the task of wiping out a lead that 
had at first seemed slight, merely one run. 

Fairview scored again in the fifth, and it was 
Neale’s big bat that once more started the trouble. 
After McCarter had fanned, Neale shot a single to 
right. The fielder, moving calmly and carelessly, 
slipped as the ball came to him on the first bound. 
It was past him before he could recover his bal- 
ance. 

A yell from the coaches told Neale what had hap- 
pened. He had begun to ease up as he neared first 
base and had taken his eyes away from the fielder 
and the ball. All at once he threw all his power 
into his stride. He rounded first, sped on to sec- 
ond, rounded that and dashed for third. 

‘‘Up!” yelled Pilgrim, who was coaching there. 
“Stay up ; stay up.” 

Neale slackened his gait and stood panting on 
the bag. The ball was just reaching the second- 
baseman who had run out to take the throw. Neale’s 
face clouded. If he hadn’t slowed up going to first, 
he might have been able to score. And now, if 
he didn’t get home, it would be because he had 
taken it for granted that the ball would be fielded 
cleanly. And if, in the end, Fairview should lose 
by one run Neale crept off the bag. 

Yost tried hard to bring him in, but the first-base- 
man’s liner went right at the pitcher. Carlson came 
to bat. He swung at the first ball and missed. 

204 


THE FIRST THRILL 


Neale frowned. Carlson wasn't hitting at all to- 
day. Perhaps it would be best if he tried to steal 
home. His hands ran from his stomach up to his 
neck, once, twice. It was the signal that he would 
try to steal. Carlson tapped his bat twice against 
the plate. He was prepared. 

The pitcher, holding the ball, glanced toward 
third base. The runner, apparently was glued close 
to the bag. The pitcher gave his attention to the 
plate. 

He was halfway through his delivery swing when, 
out of the comer of one eye, he saw a form dash- 
ing down the base path. Surprised and confused, 
he lost his control. The ball went wide, so wide 
that the catcher was lucky to stop it with his out- 
stretched glove. The second run was in. 

Neale jumped up, brushed himself, and ran laugh- 
ing to the bench. Once more the Fairview cheers 
swept the field, to be followed by a deep, joyous 
chant : 

Watch those fellows, 

Watch those fellows, 

Watch those fellows, 

THROW THE BALL AROUND ! 

Carlson struck out. Irontown went to bat. Five 
minutes later she was in the field again, and the 
score-board out in deep center read : Fairview, 2 ; 
Irontown, o. 

Neither side scored in the sixth. Fairview was 
205 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


blanked in her half of the seventh. Irontown came 
to bat. There was a desperate, do-or-die air about 
her now. Her rooters stood up and stretched and 
pleaded for action. 

Buddy went to his station — ^just the least bit 
nervous. In other games, here was the place where 
Schuyler had always begun to falter. He looked 
out across the field. Yost’s lips were moving, Neale 
could not stand still, McCarter was trying to get 
his cap to set right on his head. Why, the whole 
team was nervous. 

The captain glanced at Schuyler. The pitcher’s 
jaw was set. Evidently he, too, knew that the cru- 
cial time had come. 

“All right, old man.” Buddy crouched behind 
the batter. “Give it to me here.” 

Schuyler pitched. The batter fouled. The next 
offering was a ball. Then came a drop, and the 
batter drove it out for a long, ringing single. 

The infield shifted apprehensively. Was history 
going to repeat itself? 

Schuyler, still using his overhand swing, hit the 
next batter with the ball. 

The Irontown rooters shouted gleefully. The 
lucky seventh ! This was Irontown’s inning. 

Schuyler’s eyes were hard. The body swing was 
discarded. Using the old arm motion, he fell back 
upon his fadeaway. The next batter dumped a 
grounder to Hill and was thrown out at first, but 
206 


THE FIRST THRILL 


the other runners advanced. Irontown boys on 
second and third 1 

The infield came in and played to cut off a run 
at the plate. 

Drake, the Irontown captain, was at bat. He 
was the team’s hardest hitter. If he should drive 
it out 

Every player held his breath as Schuyler pitched. 
Drake met the ball fairly, and it sailed out to Pil- 
grim. 

The boy on third scored after the catch, and the 
boy who had been on second went to third. A hit 
now would tie the score. 

The infield played back again. If Schuyler could 
only get out of this 

“Ball one!” ruled the umpire. 

Neale’s voice came softly. “Steady, Schuyler; 
steady, boy.” 

“Ball two.” 

McCarter took off his cap and threw it away. If 
Schuyler stayed on the ground 

“Strike one !” 

Ah I That was better. Now if he 

The batter met the ball. McCarter raced in, 
clutched a twisting grounder with one hand and 
shot the ball to Yost. The inning was over, and 
Fairview led by a score of 2 to i. 

Schuyler walked to the bench. Something ran 
down into his eye. Sweat ! He smiled grimly. 

207 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


‘‘Arm tired?’’ Carrots asked. 

He shook his head. No ; his arm was not tired. 
But, oh; how frightened he had been out there. 

Fairview did not score in her half of the eighth, 
and took the field again. Once more nervousness 
swayed the nine. If Schuyler got through this in- 
ning — 

The first batter crashed a three-bagger over Pil- 
grim’s head. 

Even Buddy’s stout heart quailed. Schuyler stood 
on the mound looking down at the ground. Pres- 
ently, when the ball was thrown to him, he faced 
the plate. Somehow, his face seemed to have 
changed. 

The ball seemed to leap from his hand. The 
batter blinked his eyes in surprise. 

“Strike one!” 

Next time the batter swung, but the ball was in 
Buddy’s glove before his swing was really under 
way. And then, while he was set to go after speed, 
a slow ball floated up to the plate and threw him 
into hopeless confusion. 

“Strike three,” said the umpire. 

“Yah!” Buddy yelled. “That’s it, Schuyler, old 
top ! Keep them coming.” 

Schuyler pitched to the next boy. 

“Strike one.” 

Fairview students, struck dumb by that three-base 
smash, were finding their voices again. But Schuy- 
208 


THE FIRST THRILL 


ler heard none of their cries. He was watching 
Buddy. He caught the captain^s signals: 

'‘Runner off third! Taking a big lead! Ready! 
Throw!'' 

Schuyler whirled and threw the ball to Hill. The 
runner made a frantic slide back to the bag. 

‘'Out !” ruled the umpire. 

Carrots leaned back and smiled genially. 

“This game,” he said softly, “is about over.” 

Schuyler faced the plate with a new team behind 
him. Courage had returned and doubts were gone. 
Why, this wasn’t the same pitcher who had blown 
up against Saddle River and Lackawanna and Gates. 
This was a pitcher who could hold his nerve in the 
pinches. This was some pitcher. 

The Irontown boy at bat seemed discouraged 
by what had happened. He stood still while Schuy- 
ler curved two more strikes over the corners. Dis- 
gustedly he threw his bat away. 

Schuyler came to the bench. Carrots made room 
for him and told him he was all right. Buddy 
squeezed his arm. 

“Pretty work,” the captain cried. 

A spot of color came in each of Schuyler’s 
cheeks. There was the score-board out there. Be- 
ginning of the ninth and Fairview in the lead. He 
kept staring at the score as though he could not 
believe it. 

When it came time to take *the field again he 
2og 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 

went out slowly. He wasn’t going to let victory 
slip from him now. Carefully he worked, and cau- 
tiously, too. The first batter was thrown out by 
Neale, the next boy popped to Yost, and the last 
boy was thrown out by Buddy on a splash in front 
of the plate. The game was over. 

In the gym, while he dressed, Schuyler paused 
every now and then and stared ahead with unsee- 
ing eyes. Later, as he sat in the stage, he kept 
shaking his head and whistling under his breath. 
He had placed Irontown on a pedestal. He had 
looked upon her as the school. And now she was 
beaten, beaten by the school that had nothing. 

Suddenly a full realization of the victory dawned 
on him. His eyes ran down the coach from face 
to face — Yost, Pilgrim, McCarter, Neale, Carlson 

Gosh I what a fight they had made. He saw 

the worn, shabby bat bag lying at Linquist’s feet. 
He remembered the sewed patches in Hill’s uniform. 
He thought of the showers at Irontown, and the 
steel lockers, and the handball court, and the bat- 
ting net — and he thought of handball in a base- 
ment with ash barrels at one end and of a field 
house with numbered hooks in the unpainted walls. 
This was the team that had beaten Irontown. 

A wild burst of song came from the happy stu- 
dents riding home with the nine : 

Come, lift your voices, let them ring. 

To Fairview’s praise and glory; 

210 


THE FIRST THRILL 


No stain shall darken any page 
Of Fairview's splendid story 

Something shivery ran up and down Schuyler’s 
back. His body turned cold. A lump choked his 
throat. His eyes blinked, and blinked, and blinked. 
He lowered his head — and nobody saw the moisture 
that blurred his sight. 


CHAPTER X 


TIED! 

B uddy was a happy boy when he sat down to 
supper that night. The nine had proved that 
it was just as good as Irontown. Better 
still, Schuyler had proved that as a pitcher he was 
14-karat gold. Oh, hadn't Carrots been the wise old 
owl to advise trusting Schuyler with the game? 

suppose," Bob asked, ‘‘you figure you have 
the pennant cinched?" 

“Not much," said Buddy. “We've proved that 
we have as good a chance as any. Now it's up 
to us to go out and win." 

Bob smiled. Here was a lad whose head wasn't 
going to be turned by success. 

After supper Buddy went up to his room to 
study. Presently he heard Poole and Wally down 
in the lower hall. Of late he had not seen much 
of his friends; he had been too busy with the 
nine. 

“Come up !" he yelled ; “come on, fellows." 

They came bounding up the stairs. For the next 
five minutes anybody passing along the hall would 
have heard the sound of a good-natured battle, and 
212 


TIED! 


cries of “Gee! Wasn’t it great?’* “Do you remem- 
ber when Neale stole home?” “Do I remember it? 
You poor boob, will I ever forget it?” “Gosh! 
How did you ever get them to play a game like 
that, Buddy, after the way they practiced?” “I 
wonder what Irontown is thinking about tonight.” 

After a while the excited talk died down. The 
three boys stared soberly at one another. 

“The hardest part of the race has come,” said 
Poole. “We’re up against the last half now. The 
fellows must be kept from tiring and going stale.” 

“Carrots will take care of that,” Buddy an- 
swered. “He knows.” 

“And Schuyler ” Wally wrinkled his wide, 

fat nose. “After what he said in the candy 

shop Gee! I’m lost. Buddy. He pitched as 

though he hated every Irontown fellow on the 
lot.” 

“I guess Schuyler wasn’t as much stuck on Iron- 
town as he thought,” Poole observed. “When he 
found himself out there pitching against them, he 
was for Fairview first, last and all the time.” 

That was what Buddy thought and what he 
hoped. But he did not know. Perhaps Schuyler 
might have been pitching for personal glory. How- 
ever, he was thankful to take what gifts the base- 
ball gods sent and ask no questions. And yet, deep 
in his heart, he knew that he would be disappointed 
if Schuyler did not reach a place where the clean, 

213 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 

simple ways of Fairview would claim his faith and 
his love. 

By and by the talk turned on how the league 
stood now. The returns had not all been in when 
the team left Irontown. Poole, though, had tele- 
phoned before coming to the house. He had the 
results. Crippled Saddle River had been beaten 
by Hasbrouck, Lackawanna had defeated Garrison, 
Bloomfield had won from Brunswick and Pompton 
had defeated Gates. 

Wally thought that a plain standing of the teams 
was not enough. Something had to be done to cele- 
brate this happy occasion. After Buddy had fig- 
ured the percentages, Wally insisted that he be al- 
lowed to write the sign. This was what he pro- 
duced : 

HURRAH ! 


GOING UP 
LOOK WHO’S HERE 



W, 

L. 

PC. 


W. 

L. 

PC. 

Irontown . . . 

•• 7 

2 

•777 

Pompton . . . 

••• 5 

4 

•555 

Fairview 

.. 6 

3 

.666 

Hasbrouck . 

... 4 

5 

.444 

Lackawanna 

.. 6 

3 

.666 

Gates 

••• 3 

6 

•333 

Saddle River. 

•• 5 

4 

•555 

Brunswick . 

. . . 2 

7 

.222 

Bloomfield . . . 

•• 5 

4 

•555 

Garrison . . . 

. . . 2 

7 

.222 


Next morning Buddy took the sig^ to school and 
fastened it to the bulletin board. Soon it was sur- 
214 


TIEDl 


rounded by a jostling crowd of laughing boys. Go- 
ing up ! The spirit of the slogan caught their fancy 
and they made it a rallying cry. Going up ! Fair- 
view was going up! ! 

When Schuyler appeared there was a hearty 
cheer. 

His work yesterday had wiped out the sting 
of what had been said in the candy shop. He had 
redeemed himself. But Schuyler, though he nodded 
and smiled, hurried past the students without stop- 
ping and went directly to his classroom. 

Buddy was disappointed. He had thought to see 
the pitcher and the fellows get together on a rol- 
licking level of comradeship. Instead, Schuyler 
seemed only a bit more amiable than before. The 
captain’s eyes clouded. 

‘‘Are we never going to have clear sailing?" he 
muttered. 

He had tried to tell himself that he would be 
thankful merely for games won, but he knew now 
that he wouldn’t. He would never be satisfied until 
Schuyler would be for Fairview heart and soul. 
Schuyler would miss so much if he failed to catch 
the spirit of the Blue and White! 

It was a gay, confident nine that assembled at the 
field that afternoon. Of overconfidence there was 
none. Each boy seemed to realize that only half 
the games had been played, and that four more 
weeks of battle lay ahead. 

215 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


They all spoke to Schuyler. And Schuyler, one 
moment eagerly friendly, the next moment cold 
with reserve, one moment drew them on and the 
next moment held them off. Buddy was more puz- 
zled than before. 

When Carrots appeared, he told his troubles to 
the coach. The huckster boy squinted at the pitcher 
and ran a thoughtful hand across his chin. 

“Won’t be friends, eh?” he asked. 

“Well, not exactly that,” said Buddy. 

“Carrying that same old chip on his shoulder?” 

“No; not that, either.” 

“He’s a queer bird,” said Carrots. “I thought 
if we put him in against Irontown it would end 
all our troubles.” 

“It hasn’t,” said Buddy. 

“You can’t go over,” Carrots complained, “and 
hit him on the head with a bat and tell him to wake 
up. We’ll have to let him alone.” 

“But if he just drifts on this way. Carrots, where 
are we going to get off? The fellows want to be 
friendly, but they won’t stand on their heads just 
to make him smile.” 

Carrots stared at Schuyler sitting on the ground 
and waiting the order to warm up. 

“Believe me,” the huckster boy said suddenly, 
“that lad is doing some thinking.” 

“But what is he thinking about. Carrots?” 

Carrots shrugged his shoulders. “You can search 
216 


TIED! 


me. What has he got to think about that should 
make him so crusty?’’ 

Buddy didn’t know. 

But Schuyler, had anyone asked him and had he 
wanted to talk, would have said that he had a 
whole lot to think about. He was all at sea. 

Yesterday, riding home in the stage, Fairview 
had seemed a wonderful place and her nine a 
wonderful nine. Since then he had had a night’s 
sleep. The thrill of the Irontown game was gone. 
And Fairview now seemed just plain Fair- 
view. 

But the nine There was something that 

stuck. It still seemed a wonderful nine. Any nine, 
for that matter, that could beat Irontown, would be 
wonderful — to Schuyler. 

The trouble with him was this: For days and 
days he had pictured Irontown in his imagination 
as a giant among schools. He had clothed her 
with the garments of a wonderful superiority. He 
had thought her invincible, superb, a mountain 
among valleys. After the game, with the thrill of 
victorious battle still tingling his nerves, it had 
been easy for him to believe in Fairview. Now, 
though, the habit of weeks was reasserting itself. 
Old thoughts were coming back. Voices whispered 
to him that Irontown had been off her game. Was 
it possible for a little school like Fairview to hold 
Irontown to one run after she had laced Lacka- 
217 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


wanna for twenty-one — that is, if Irontown was 
right ? 

Thoughts like these tortured the pitcher. He 
looked upon the nine with a new respect. It had 
proved itself. But being a good nine, and being the 
best nine in the league, were different matters. Was 
Fairview really stronger than Irontown? Had her 
victory been a real show of superiority? Or was 
it a fluke? 

He could not believe in the school with a strong, 
unswerving faith. For all of that, a lot of his old 
antagonism was gone. That talk with his father 
had opened his eyes. He saw now that Fairview 
deserved great credit. Whether or not she won the 
pennant, she had made a dandy fight. The field 
house, bare and meager as it was, began to stand 
for something. And as for handball in the base- 
ment There was something almost Spartan 

about that. 

Schuyler had an exaggerated sense of false pride, 
and he could not parade his change of heart before 
the fellows. He had scoffed and condemned; he 
could not bring himself to admit that he had been 
wrong. Besides, there was another side to it. Sup- 
pose somebody should say that he saw that the 
nine was going to amount to something and wanted 
to climb on the bandwagon ? 

And so, in spite of friendly hands stretched out 
to him, he trod his mistaken road. 

218 


TIED! 


Had Buddy known what was in his mind, the 
captain would have been saved many anxious hours. 
But Buddy, because he was no mind reader, was 
forced to tread a road far harder than Schuyler’s. 
Ahead he saw a chance golden and bright with 
promise. To reach it he had a machine with one 
uncertain part — Schuyler. 

‘T wouldn’t worry about that,” said Carrots. 
“He’s a whole lot better than he was. He doesn’t 
make the talk he used to make. How many games 
did he pitch in the first half of the season?” 

“Four,” Buddy answered. 

“He lost two. He’s a better pitcher now, isn’t 
he?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then he ought to do better than win two games 
from now to the finish.” 

Buddy nodded. Schuyler ought to do far better. 
He shrugged his shoulders and tried to throw off his 
worry. How simple everything would be if Schuy- 
ler would come out of his shell and be a regular 
fellow ! 

There was a tendency, that day, to slacken up 
in practice. Buddy decided that this would never 
do. When the players, at the finish, walked to the 
field house, he was last in line. A dozen students 
followed the players. At the dressing-room door 
Buddy barred the way. 

“We want to talk things over tonight,” he said. 
219 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


The students grinned and went off about their 
business. There was a sort of understanding now 
that there might be times when the nine might want 
to talk and plan alone. This, evidently, was one of 
those times. 

Inside, Buddy faced the squad. 

"‘Fellows,’' he said, “there are nine games left. 
Some of you were loafing today. We can’t have 
any of that. We’re still a game behind Irontown, 
and we must catch up. There’s only one way to 
do that. We must go on winning until she loses.” 

“And after that ?” a voice asked. 

“After that,” said Buddy, “we must go on win- 
ning so that she won’t draw into the lead again. 
How many fellows will promise now to practice as 
hard as they know how?” 

Schuyler’s hand went up with the others. That 
was a good sign, anyway. Buddy timed his dress- 
ing so that he left with the pitcher, 
f “Schuyler,” he said, “that scrap in the candy 
shop is — is wiped out so far as I’m concerned.” 

The pitcher looked at him steadily. “All right,” 
he said, “we’ll forget it.” 

Buddy’s heart beat faster. “I’m counting on you 
for a whole lot of games won.” 

Schuyler said nothing. He had lost a lot of his 
z^st for boasting. 

Next day, true to its promise, the nine went at 
the practice as though it was a game. Buddy was 
220 


TIED! 


delighted. When the players went in to dress, he 
remained on the field with Carrots. Tomorrow 
Saddle River would come to Fairview for the tenth 
game. From the way the nine had acted today he 
didn^t fear Saddle River in the least. 

‘‘We ought to win easily,” he said. 

“Did you tell that to the fellows?” Carrots de- 
manded. 

“Oh, no. I don’t want them lolling around and 
getting lazy. I told them Saddle River was begin- 
ning to pull herself together.” 

Carrots was relieved. To his way of thinking, 
a nine that expected trouble was always better than 
the nine that expected an easy time, for if trouble 
came it was not caught unprepared. 

“The whole race now,” he said, “is a question of 
nerve. It always is in these races where two or 
three teams are bunched. If Irontown keeps on 
winning and can’t shake us off, she may begin to 
worry. Then, fluey! She’s gone. If we keep on 
winning and don’t gain, we may get discouraged 
and quit.” 

“Quit?” Buddy cried. 

“Sure,” Carrots said calmly. “I don’t mean that 
you’ll quit. The fellows might. You can’t tell. 
Big league teams sometimes lose their nerve and 
quit.” 

The sound of singing came from the field house. 

“We’re all right if they keep that up,” Carrots 
221 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


said. “When a team sings, it's full of pep. We've 
got to keep it that way." 

“Why won’t it stay that way?" Buddy asked. 

Carrots shrugged his shoulders. “Suppose Fair- 
view and Irontown keep on winning? Suppose 
some fellow begins to moan and shake his head and 
say, gee, isn’t Irontown ever going to lose?" 

Buddy’s face became thoughtful. 

“Or suppose," Carrots said, “some Fairview fel- 
low jumped in there first and twisted things his way? 
Suppose instead of saying, wasn’t Irontown ever 
going to lose, this Fairview fellow asked how much 
longer could they hold us back ?" 

“Oh!" Buddy saw it then. One way the ques- 
tion sounded like the specter of defeat. The other 
way it was a rallying call, a notice of victory in the 
end. 

Next day was Saturday. There was no school. 
For all of that. Buddy went to the frame school 
building in the morning and tacked a sign across 
the top of the bulletin board. The sign read: 

HOW LONG CAN IRONTOWN HOLD US 
BACK? 

“I guess that fixes things," he said. 

Directly, after dinner he went to the field house 
and got into uniform. One by one the players ap- 
peared. He let them lounge in the house as long as 
222 


TIED! 


they liked, but once their uniforms were on they 
were sent to the field and told to work. Loafing out 
of uniform was permitted; sloth had to depart the 
moment pants and shirt and cap and belt went on. 

Saddle River came to the field house just the 
shadow of the team that Fairview had played at 
the start of the season. She took her practice in a 
dead, dreary fashion. The start of the game found 
her weak and uncertain, and with no heart to wage 
a battle. Fairview scored almost as she pleased. 

As a league game it was a farce. Arthur Stone 
struck out fourteen batters. Only three balls were 
hit to the Fairview outfield. 

When the slaughter was over at last Buddy and 
the Saddle River captain walked in together. 

“Aren’t we some team?” the visiting captain 
asked bitterly. “That’s what you get when fellows 
won’t play fair to themselves or their school. If 
some of our players had studied instead of loaf- 
ing Oh, well; there’s no use whining.” 

Twenty minutes later the Saddle River boys were 
gone. Somebody yelled that it was time to get to 
the candy shop and get the results. Suppose Pomp- 
ton had beaten Irontown? That was possible. 
Pompton had won five and lost four. She could 
put up a fight. 

But when the news came to them over the tele- 
phone, they found that Irontown had won. So had 
Lackawanna, Hasbrouck and Garrison. 

223 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


Monday a new league standing graced the bul- 
letin board : 


W. L. PC. W. L. PC. 

Irontown 8 2 .800 Bloomfield $ 5 .500 

Fairview 7 3 .700 Pompton 5 5 .500 

Lackawanna ... 7 3 .700 Gates 3 7 .300 

Hasbrouck .... 5 5 .500 Garrison 3 7 .300 

Saddle River. . . 5 5 .500 Brunswick 2 8 .200 

And above it was the question: 

HOW LONG CAN IRONTOWN HOLD US 
BACK? 

It took the players by storm. Somehow, it 
seemed to put Irontown on the defensive. Fair- 
view was chasing her, and the moment she stumbled 
she would be caught. 

Schuyler stared at the question a long time. Its 
optimism and its courage stirred him. It was fine 
of Fairview to face the future unflinchingly with 
the odds against her. But— — 

But Irontown had the advantages. There was 
no getting around that. Could a brave army, carry- 
ing shot guns, beat an army using high powered 
rifles? Of course not! He stole a glance at the 
eager faces around him. What a pity they were 
going to be disappointed. What a pity Fairview 
didn’t have the big things — things that would put 
224 


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her on an even footing with Irontown, for instance. 

Several times that afternoon Schuyler’s mind 
drifted from his lessons. He wondered how Iron- 
town looked upon Fairview. Did the Blue and 
White worry her? He tried to picture Irontown, 
with her wide, rich, granite school house, giving 
a second thought to little Fairview. The picture 
would not come. It seemed as improbable as an 
elephant worrying over an ant. 

That afternoon the students came to the field 
in a body. While the nine dressed, the fellows sang 
the school hymn with a new depth of feeling. Twice 
Schuyler paused in his dressing to listen ; and when 
he finally went out for practice he was softly hum- 
ming the air. 

During the warm-up he was sure that Buddy was 
hoping he would say something. He asked himself 
miserably what he could say. That the nine would 
surely overhaul IVontown? How could he say 
that when, deep in his soul, he had his doubts? 

He was afraid that boys would come to him with 
that very question. In fact, he had feared such a 
cross-examining ever since the victorious return 
from Irontown. It was something he wanted to 
dodge. He had no itch to have students grin at 
him and ask him had he changed his mind. 

The moment the warm-up was over, he jerked on 
his sweater and walked away. Buddy sighed and 
turned toward the infield. 

225 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


Carrots had sent word that he would not get to 
the practice that day. Buddy was glad that he had to 
handle the work alone. It kept him busy. It gave 
him something to think about other than Schuyler. 

Today he continued his policy of permitting no 
loafing in uniform. Ready, aim, fire! That’s how 
the practice went. As the players caught their 
stride, he told himself gleefully that he had never 
seen faster fielding. 

‘^Come on, fellows!” he cried. “We’re after a 
pennant. Get into the game.” 

McCarter fumbled a grounder. 

“That won’t give us a pennant,” yelled Neale. 
“After it, Mac.” 

The shortstop scrambled for the ball, slipped, 
fell, and threw from his knees. The ball reached 
Yost’s glove. 

“Yah !” cried Buddy. “That’s the stuff.” 

Schuyler’s pulse quickened. If the nine could 
play that way for the rest of the season 

“Oh, forget it,” he groaned under his breath. 
“Irontown fields well, too.” He turned away and 
bumped into Poole. 

“Great work,” said the president of the A. A. 
nodding toward the field. 

“Fine,” said Schuyler. Poole was one of the 
boys with whom, up to this time, he had been unable 
to get along. 

“Dandy game you pitched Saturday.” 

226 


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Plainly Poole was sincere. Instantly Schuyler 
wanted to get away. He was human; he liked to 
be told that he had done well. But just at present, 
with everybody around him sure of Fairview’s final 
triumph, he felt like a traitor. 

He mumbled a reply and hurried to the field 
house. Poole gave a low whistle. Was Schuyler 
sorry he had beaten Irontown? 

‘‘He can’t be,” Poole said. “He was working 
every minute to win.” Yet, why should he hurry 
away when the game was mentioned? The presi- 
dent of the A. A. for once was up a tree. 

After the Irontown game the players had been 
willing to take Schuyler back as though nothing 
had ever happened. Now, though, his strange si- 
lence was building up another structure of doubt 
and misunderstanding. Poole was not the only boy 
who wondered. 

Buddy became aware of this next morning. 
Three of the players — Pilgrim, Hill and Carlson — 
spoke to him at different times. What was the mat- 
ter with Schuyler ? Didn’t he think they were good 
enough to talk to ? Did he think he was something 
superior? Of course, he could pitch. They ad- 
mitted that. But, mackerel, did that give him any 
license to think he was a Lord High Muck-a- 
muck? 

“Look here, fellows,” Buddy said in desperation, 
“he hasn’t said anything, has he?” 

227 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


‘‘Said anything?” Carlson gave a laugh. “He 
won’t say anything, that’s the trouble.” 

“But if he goes on pitching winning ball for 


“I guess we can stand for his airs if he does 
that,” said Carlson. 

But Buddy knew that they couldn’t. There was 
bound to be friction. 

“When Schuyler was losing,” the captain wailed, 
“I was in trouble. Now he’s winning and I’m in 
trouble anyhow.” 

That afternoon he told his woes to Carrots. The 
huckster boy pulled his cap down over his eyes 
and stood motionless, lost in thought. Suddenly 
he shook his head as though he had made up his 
mind. 

“Wait until after the practice,” he said. “Get 
things moving.” 

Things moved. Throws were fast and sure, and 
difficult catches were made to look easy. Arthur 
was sent to the mound to pitch to the batters, and 
they gayly pounded his delivery to a fare-thee-well. 
Schuyler, thinking he would not be used today, 
started in to dress. 

“O Schuyler!” Carrots called. “Wait.” 

Schuyler waited. The practice was brought to 
a close. He and Buddy and Carrots were left alone 
on the field. 

“Schuyler,” Carrots said, “suppose I told you 
228 


TIED! 


that, in order to be a winning pitcher, you ought to 
stand on your head for a few minutes every day?’’ 

Schuyler’s face went blank with astonishment. 

‘'Come on ; suppose I told you that. What would 
you do?” 

“I’d do it,” Schuyler answered. 

“Why?” 

“I’d figure I ought to do what you ordered for 
the good of the team.” 

“That’s the answer.” The coach seemed im- 
mensely pleased. “Now, suppose I told you that 
a certain fellow on the team was mooning around, 
and that some of the players thought he had airs, 
and that this feeling was going to hurt the team’s 
chances. What would you say to that?” 

Schuyler was silent a moment. “I’d say that 
fellow ought to talk,” he said. 

“I guess we’ll go in. Buddy,” Carrots said. 
They walked away, and left Schuyler to think it 
out. 

Five minutes later the pitcher followed them into 
the field house. Pilgrim had the hook next to his, 
and he said a word about a catch that the outfielder 
had made that day. Before he started for home, 
he had found occasion to speak to several 
others. 

He meant well. Buddy could not question that. 
But his advances were forced and unnatural. It 
was almost as though he said aloud, “Fellows, I’m 
229 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


going to make myself talk to you whether I want 
to or not” Buddy went home to supper not much 
happier than he had been that morning. 

Schuyler went home about as cheerful as a 
mangy dog. He knew that his conversation had 
not sounded real. He had seen a question in several 
eyes. He did not want to be a drag on the nine; 
he wanted to help. 

But he couldn’t; not in the way he wanted to, 
anyway. Irontown — the imposing Irontown of 
granite school house and steel lockers — over- 
whelmed his imagination. 

Schuyler was finding his position more trying 
each day. Not so long ago he had been a leader 
in the school. Boys had looked up to him. Now, 
apparently, all was changed. He no longer went 
to the field house at night. So far as he could 
see, his presence was not even missed. It was 
as though he had dropped out of school entirely. 

He knew that his own actions had brought this 
about. The players were willing to be friends. But 
friendship, he thought, was a clean, honest give- 
and-take arrangement. How could he be that kind 
of friend when he had nothing to give but 
doubts ? 

Next day the team would go to Brunswick for 
a game. Brunswick was in last place, having won 
two games out of ten. By rights it was his game, 
because Arthur Stone had pitched against Saddle 
230 


TIED! 


River. He wondered if what had been said to him 
that day would make any difference. Would Ar- 
thur be sent to the mound ? 

In the morning, when he came to school, the bat- 
teries for the game were posted on the bulletin. 
Arch and Jones! So he was going to pitch. 

Carrots O’Toole did not make the trip to Bruns- 
wick. But when the nine came back, five hours 
later, he was waiting in front of the post office. 

"‘Did you win?” he demanded. 

“Schuyler shut them out,” said Buddy. “They 
got three hits.” 

The coach’s eyes found the pitcher in the crowd. 
He was walking with Hill and Yost — and he was 
talking! 

It had become the custom, the moment the nine 
reached home from an out of town game, to go 
at once to the candy shop and telephone. The play- 
ers walked along in a compact body. Carrots was 
in the center. 

“Keep it up, fellows,” he urged. “Irontown’s go- 
ing to trip, as sure as you’re born. This is our 
sixth straight win. We’ve got them worried. 
Write that in your little book, fellows; we’ve got 
them worried.” 

Schuyler stopped talking. Was it possible? Was 
Irontown fretting about Fairview? 

They came to the candy shop and stormed in 
through the doorway. Somebody suggested a plate 
231 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


of ice cream before finding out anything. Several 
of the boys stopped uncertainly. 

The telephone rang, long, and loud, and inces- 
sant. Schuyler was nearest to the instrument. 

‘‘Answer it, Schuyler,” somebody called. 

The pitcher put the receiver to his ear. “Hello ! 
Yes, this is Fairview. Who won? We did. Score? 
We shut them out.” 

There was a moment of silence. Schuyler turned 
a thoughtful face toward the players. 

“Want the results. Buddy?” he asked. “Iron- 
town is on the wire.” 

“Irontown ?” Carrots gave a crowing laugh. 
“She’s calling us now. I told you she was wor- 
ried.” 

The excitement died down. Schuyler called the 
results as they came to him. Irontown had beaten 
Gates, Hasbrouck had won from Pompton, Saddle 
River had lost to Lackawanna, and Garrison had 
beaten Bloomfield. 

“Get it?” Schuyler asked. Buddy nodded, and 
the pitcher called a “Thank you,” and hung up the 
receiver. 

The thoughtful look on his face had deepened. 
Buddy took a quick step forward. Like an in- 
spiration, something of the truth dawned on him. 

“Who called then, Schuyler?” he asked. “Did 
you recognize the voice?” 

Schuyler nodded. 


232 


TIED! 


‘‘Who was it T* 

“Drake/^ 

“The Irontown captain,” Carrots yelled. “Now 
they are worried.” 

The players had no thought of cream now. They 
flocked out of the place. Schuyler, hugging his suit 
case, got away and walked home alone. 

Irontown was worried! At last he knew the 
truth. Not because Carrots had said so. Oh, no! 
He had stronger evidence than that. Drake’s voice 
had been tense with anxiety. 

Irontown afraid of little Fairview! He stood 
still, and dropped his suit case, and mopped his 
brow. And a thrill greater than the thrill he had 
felt riding home from Irontown ran through him. 

“My eye!” he breathed. “We have a chance 
for that pennant. Til bet Buddy won’t be able 
to eat his supper tonight.” 

But there Schuyler was wrong. Buddy ate a 
supper that made his mother’s eyes stick out. He 
felt bully from the highest hair of his head right 
down into his toes. Fortune was coming his way! 

He was sure that he had solved Schuyler’s prob- 
lem. He had seen it in Schuyler’s face. The 
pitcher had wanted to believe in Fairview and 
couldn’t. But Drake’s voice over the telephone had 
changed all that. 

He told Bob about the game, and about that call 
from Irontown, and about Schuyler and about the 

233 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


team’s chances. Then, when his story was at an 
end, he rushed upstairs and caught up the schedule 
and studied it — ^not only the games to be played^ 
but also the games that were past. 

Soberly he came to school next morning and 
tacked a new league standing to the board : 

W. L. PC. W. L. PC. 

Irontown 9 2 .818 Saddle River. . . 5 6 .454 

Fairview 8 3 .727 Bloomfield 5 6 .454 

Lackawanna ... 8 3 .727 Garrison 4 7 .363 

Hasbrouck 6 5 .545 Gates 3 8 .272 

Pompton 5 6 .454 Brunswick 2 9 .181 

The students crowded into the hall to study the 
standing. Buddy faced them and raised his hand. 
They crowded closer until presently students and 
players were all grouped in front of him, the last 
boys just inside the front door. 

‘‘Fairview’s chance has come,” he said. ‘‘Next 
Saturday we play Garrison, and we must win.” 

“She’s third from last,” said a voice. “We’ll 
beat her.” 

“No game is won until it’s won,” said Buddy. 
“We must play against Garrison just as hard as 
though we were playing against the leader.” 

“Ah, come now. Buddy,” a voice laughed. 

“Don’t forget,” said Buddy, “what I’ve told you. 
Fairview’s chance has come. Next Saturday Iron- 
town plays Hasbrouck.” 

234 


TIED! 


The captain’s seriousness silenced the students. 
Heads were craned to see where Hasbrouck stood. 

'"She’s only won six,” a boy said at last. 

'"She’s won her last four,” Buddy said. '"She’s 
playing hard. She’s driving ahead, and a team 
that’s driving ahead is hard to stop. Did any of 
you ever hear how the Boston Braves stormed 
through the National League and won a pennant? 
They got going and there was no stopping them. 
Maybe Irontown won’t stop Hasbrouck next Satur- 
day.” 

By the time classes were dismissed that after- 
noon, the entire school had caught the spirit of pre- 
paredness. The nine went at its work as though 
some great obstacle lay ahead. Boys who slackened 
for a moment were urged on by other players. 
Drive, drive, drive ! The ball flew around the infield 
as though it had wings. And when an outfielder 
made a catch, he hustled the leather back as fast 
as he could. 

Schuyler found himself caught up and whirled 
off with the others. Fairview’s chance! Was 
Buddy right? Was this the big moment the Blue 
and White had almost prayed for ? 

'"Somebody pitch to the batters,” cried Carrots. 

'"I will.” Schuyler sprang forward. 

The huckster boy caught his arm. '"Hold on 
there. You pitched yesterday.” 

"I won’t overdo,” Schuyler pleaded. "Save Ar- 

235 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


thur for Garrison.” He went out to the mound, 
and slowly a wide grin spread over Carrots^s face. 
HeM have great news for Buddy that night. 

And when he told it, the captain straightened his 
tired back and heaved a great sigh of relief. 

‘"Carrots,” he said, “that pennant looks a whole 
lot nearer.” 

Saturday the team went to Garrison. Wally 
Hamilton had secured a copy of a weekly news- 
paper printed at Irontown. On the sporting page 
was a column review of the league season. One 
paragraph Wally read to them with great excite- 
ment : 

Fairview High School has been one of the surprises of 
the season. For a while it looked as though she was 
going to have an in-and-out season. A lack of pitchers 
bothered her. Suddenly Arch began to win. At first he 
seemed to be followed by a hoodoo, and kept losing games 
in the last few innings. He has gotten over that. Against 
Irontown he was as steady as the best of them. Now that 
he and Stone are going along in good shape, Fairview i^ 
one of the teams that must be considered. 

A little smile crept to Schuyler’s face. You could 
just bet that Fairview had to be considered! The 
praise of his own pitching brightened his eyes but 
did not make him cocky. A month ago he would 
have strutted like a peacock. 

The Garrison game did not amount to much — 
as a game. Fairview, taking no chances, played as 
236 


TIED! 


though everything was at stake. One run in the 
first inning, two in the third, one in the fourth and 
three in the fifth. And meanwhile. Garrison had 
been able to squeeze but one lonely tally out of 
Arthur Stone’s pitching. 

The sixth inning began with Carrots yelling to 
go at them just as though Fairview did not have 
a six run lead. The final score was lo to 3. 

“Seven straight,” cried Neale. “That’s a league 
record.” 

Home the nine rode. At first they were noisy 
and boisterous and eager to rejoice. But as they 
neared Fairview the clamor died down. What had 
Irontown done ? 

A pushing, restless crowd of students met the 
stage when it stopped outside the post office. Poole 
had not been able to go with the nine. He made a 
megaphone of his hands. 

“The Irontown game isn’t over yet.” 

Instantly on the stage there was commotion. Not 
over yet? Then it must be an extra-inning game. 
The players hurried to the candy shop. A call to 
Irontown brought the same message that Poole 
had given — not over yet. 

Schuyler waited around for a while, and then 
grew nervous. He went outside and began to walk 
about. Before he knew it he was several blocks 
from the shop. He kept on going. Reaching a 
street that was new to him, he followed it. Up, 

237 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


up, it lead him, and then it ended abruptly as though 
those who had made the thoroughfare had quit for 
the day and had forgotten to come back. 

He looked around him. Down below, snuggled 
in a little hollow, was the high school. Its walls, 
faded and gray, rose peacefully from the stretches 
of lawn — the same lawn at which he had sneered 
on his first day. The trees, green branches reach- 
ing out like protecting veils, completed a picture 
of calm and quiet. 

He had never before seen Fairview look like this. 
A warm glow expanded in his heart. How wise his 
father had been! Truly, pomp and show did not 
count. Granite walls meant nothing. It was the 
school itself that counted — its code, what it stood 
for, what it was. Fairview, with her lawn and 
her trees and her weather-beaten building, was as 
truly worthy as Irontown for all her splendor. 

What a fool he had been, he thought. Irontown 
had lockers and shower baths, and Fairview hadn’t. 
But Fairview had something that mighty Irontown 
would never have — comradeship. At Irontown he 
had known only about one-quarter of the students. 
Here he knew every boy. Irontown was big, and 
boys were lost in Its bigness. Modest Fairview was 
like a family. 

He had wondered, in the past, how the little 
school could hope to turn out a nine that would fight 
the big school. He knew, now. The little school 
238 


TIED! 


was knit together. Every hope was a common hope, 
and every fear was a common fear. The little 
school was a compact, bubbling kernel of fighting 
energy. The big school was like gunpowder thrown 
around loosely and at large. The little school was 
dynamite. 

He looked down at the building for another mo- 
ment before turning away. Halfway back to the 

candy shop he heard a faint cheer. Did it mean 

He caught his breath, and began to run. 

But long before he reached the candy shop the 
glorious news was being cried up and down Main 
Street. Hasbrouck had beaten Irontown in a six- 
teen-inning game. 

Fairview and Irontown were tied! 


CHAPTER XI 


FIGHTING FOR THE PENNANT 

F ifteen minutes later the celebration began 
to die down. Throats grew tired and voices 
became weak. The crowd broke up. 
Schuyler went off alone. So far as he was con- 
cerned there was something lacking. He had a 
sweater home with an on it, and at the bottom 
of a bureau drawer he had a collection of Irontown 
souvenirs. But there was nothing to proclaim that 
he was a Fairview student. 

A short distance from the candy shop was a 
stationery store. Schuyler walked that far. After 
a quick look around he ducked in through the door- 
way. 

But watchful eyes had seen him. Neale peered in 
through the window, and promptly went back to the 
candy shop and whispered to Carrots and to Buddy. 

The captain was quick to grasp the situation. 
'^Monday morning weTl post the league standing,” 
he said. ‘The bulletin board ought to be decorated 
with red, white and blue ribbon. Suppose we go 
to the stationery store and buy some?” 

There were cries of “Go to it, Buddy.” The 
captain led them out. 


240 


FIGHTING FOR THE PENNANT 


Schuyler, his purchase not yet completed, heard 
voices and the sound of many footsteps. He swung 
around toward the door. Slowly an embarrassed 
color ran into his cheeks, and he tried to hide some- 
thing behind his back. 

'‘We saw it, Schuyler,'’ Buddy said. 

Schuyler's hands came into view. They held a 
flag — the Blue and White of Fairview. 

“This isn't just because the nine has gone into 
first place," Schuyler said stiffly. 

“Of course it isn't," said Buddy. 

“Schuyler," Carrots added, “we've been wise that 
you felt this way for a long time." 

Of course, that wasn't exactly true, but it con- 
veyed to the other boys that the sneering, superior 
Schuyler of old was gone. In a flash all restraint 
vanished. Somebody asked him what he thought 
about decorating the bulletin board, and Buddy 
shrewdly consulted his judgment as to which of 
two ribbons to buy. Before they left the store 
Schuyler felt thoroughly — and happily — at home. 
He could be one of them now, for he, too, believed 
in Fairview. 

And how he did talk! It was as though his 
tongue, having at last been loosed, wanted to make 
up for all the time it had lost. He found Yost 
holding one arm and saying, “That's right, old 
man," and Neale walking on the other side with 
a hand on his shoulder. 


241 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


Carrots nudged Buddy in the ribs. ‘That lad 
will talk for a week/’ he whispered. 

“Gee !” Buddy whispered back. “Doesn’t it sound 
good to hear him?” 

It surely did sound good. Buddy went home at 
peace with all the world. And Schuyler went home 
happier than he had been in many months. After 
supper he rummaged through the library for a 
book. Without thinking he began to sing : 

Come, lift your voices, let them ring, 

To Fairview’s praise and glory; 

No stain shall darken any page 
Of Fairview’s splendid story. 

Then here’s to her, long may she light 

The path of honor 

“I never heard you sing that before,” Mr. Arch 
said from behind his paper. 

“You’ll hear me sing it often now,” Schuyler 
smiled. His eyes met those of his father. “You 
were right,” he said frankly, and went upstairs to 
hang Fairview’s flag in his room. 

Monday the school bulletin board carried the 
latest figures of the league standing: 

W. L. PC. W. L. PC. 

Fairview 9 3 .750 Pompton 6 6 .500 

Irontown 9 3 .750 Bloomfield 5 7 .416 

Lackawanna ... 8 4 .666 Gates 4 8 .333 

Hasbrouck 7 5 .583 Garrison 4 8 .333 

Saddle River... 6 6 .500 Brunswick 2 10 .166 

242 


FIGHTING FOR THE PENNANT 


There was general rejoicing because Gates had 
done the unexpected and had beaten Lackawanna, 
thus pulling her back. There was also some un- 
easiness about Hasbrouck. 

That afternoon, with the door of the field house 
locked, Buddy addressed the nine. 

‘‘There are six games left,’’ he said, “and it 
looks as though four teams will fight it out — Fair- 
view, Irontown, Lackawanna and Hasbrouck. 
Wednesday we play Lackawanna. If we beat her, 
she’s out of it. That would leave Hasbrouck, Fair- 
view and Irontown. Fellows, we’ve got to play ball 
every minute. The schedule is against us.” 

Schuyler crowded forward. “How’s that. Bud- 
dy?” Never more would the captain be addressed 
as “Jones.” 

“Hasbrouck has three games to play with the 
weak teams. Irontown also has three games to 
play with the weak teams. We have only two. 
That means that we have four tough games, and 
the others have three tough games.” 

“All games are tough games,” said Carrots 
O’Toole. 

But the fellows knew what Buddy meant. Si- 
lently they went out to the field. Their faces were 
a bit grim. 

There was a new quality to the practice today. 
Heretofore it had been fast and spirited. Now, 
to these qualities was added determination. 

243 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


Schuyler pitched to the batters for fifteen min- 
utes. While he was on the mound he put every- 
thing he had on the ball. Buddy looked at him 
anxiously. 

‘‘Make them hit against real pitching/’ Schuyler 
said. “They may have to do some batting to win 
some of these games.” 

“But if you strain your arm ” 

Schuyler laughed. “No fear. That body swing 
is getting easier all the time.” He was happy to 
be out there serving and giving his best. 

Wednesday Lackawanna came to Fairview and 
bowed to Schuyler’s skill. Time after time she had 
runners on the bases, and time after time Schuyler 
pitched himself out of holes. The final score was 
6 to 2. 

“That settles us,” the Lackawanna captain sighed 
when both teams were in the field house. 

Buddy thought so, too, but he did not voice this 
opinion. Instead he asked: 

“How did Irontown come to beat you 21 to 2?” 

The visiting captain’s eyes snapped. “She caught 
us on an off day, and she rubbed it in. That game 
broke the spirit of this team. She needn’t have 
scored all those runs, but she wanted to make us 
feel cheap. We were pushing her pretty hard just 
then.” He dropped his baseball stockings into his 
grip. “She’ll pay for that though,” he added. 

Buddy was interested. “How so?” 

244 


FIGHTING FOR THE PENNANT 


‘‘We have another game with her, and weTe go- 
ing to even things up. How about it, fellows?’' 

The Lackawanna players nodded. They were 
very much in earnest. 

Half an hour later Buddy knew what had hap- 
pened around the circuit. Irontown, Pompton, 
Brunswick and Hasbrouck had won their games. 

“Hasbrouck again!” Neale said. “She’s going 
some.” 

“We play her next week,” said Pilgrim. 

Several of the boys looked thoughtful. Buddy 
worked out the league standing : 

W. L. PC. - W. L. PC. 

Fairview lo 3 .769 Saddle River., 6 7 .461 

Irontovirn 10 3 .769 Bloomfield 5 8 .384 

Hasbrouck .... 8 5 .615 Garrison 4 9 .307 

Lackawanna ... 8 5 .615 Gates 4 9 .307 

Pompton 7 6 .537 Brunswick 3 10 .230 

The fight now lay between Fairview, Irontown, 
and Hasbrouck, with five more games to play. Has- 
brouck had Buddy worried, but he did not show 
it. He believed in telling the nine they had a fight 
on their hands. It kept them from loafing and 

becoming careless. But as for showing concern 

Oh, no. That would be like saying you thought you 
were going to get licked. 

Thursday he threw the squad into its practice 
with the same old vim. It was easier, now, to keep 

245 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


them up to the mark. The scent of victory was 
in their nostrils and they were keen for their work. 
Added to that, the students came to the field each 
afternoon and cheered and sang. It helped a lot. 

Arthur went to the mound that day and pitched as 
hard as Schuyler had pitched in practice. For all 
of that, the players clouted his delivery to all cor- 
ners of the field. When the baiting was over Car- 
rots and Buddy called him aside. 

‘"Wrist hurt you again?” the captain asked. 

‘"N-no,” said Arthur. He worked the muscles. 
""N — ” He paused. 

‘"Does hurt you,” said Carrots. 

‘"A little,” the pitcher agreed. He moved the 
wrist again. ‘"I can scarcely feel it. I wouldn’t 
know anything was wrong if you hadn’t made me 
look for it. I guess it will be all right.” 

‘"Sure,” said Carrots. He and Buddy walked 
toward the field house, but they walked so slowly 
that all the players were in before they came to 
the door. They paused. 

‘"Is — is it all right?” Buddy asked. 

Carrots shook his head. ‘"You can’t tell. It 
doesn’t hurt him enough. Maybe, in a full game, 
he’d get lambasted. Maybe he wouldn’t. I’ve had 
kinks that worked out.” 

""And some that didn’t?” the captain asked. 

Carrots nodded. ‘"We play Bloomfield Saturday. 
Put him in and see how it goes.” 

246 


FIGHTING FOR THE PENNANT 


‘‘But if he gets pounded ” Buddy began in a 

sudden panic. Was the prize going to slip from 
his grasp at this late day? 

“You’ve got to take a chance,” said Carrots. 
“Schuyler can’t pitch the whole schedule.” 

Buddy went home with the conviction that he 
wasn’t going to get much fun out of life until the 
Bloomfield game was over. 

Saturday Bloomfield came to Fairview. During 
the warm-up Buddy watched Arthur narrowly. 
When he came to the bench Carrots spoke out of 
the corner of his mouth : 

“All right?” 

“He is and he isn’t,” Buddy answered fretfully. 
“Sometimes the ball has a hop, and sometimes it 
comes in dead.” 

“Don’t use his curves unless you have to,” Car- 
rots advised. “Sometimes a pitcher can get away 
with it with only a straight ball if he has con- 
trol.” 

It was many a day before Buddy forgot the 
Bloomfield game. Before the first inning was over 
he was sweating with misery and uncertainty. 
Bloomfield hit Arthur freely, and scored freely, too. 
But Fairview’s bats were also busy, and the end of 
the fourth inning found the score tied at 6-6. 

Buddy and Carrots whispered on the bench. 
They asked Arthur if his wrist hurt. He said it 
did not, and they knew he spoke the truth. 

247 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


“Keep him in/’ said Carrots. 

So Arthur remained on the mound, and in the 
sixth inning came the deluge. The score was still 
tied, and one Bloomfield boy was out. When the 
next Bloomfield boy singled, the blow did not look 
disastrous. Bloomfield had been singling with 
great frequency. 

The next batter got his base on balls. That looked 
a bit serious. Arthur stretched his arms as though 
they bothered him. 

Buddy thought fast. Should he take Arthur out ? 
He’d wait a moment and try the next batter. He 
signaled for a high ball on the outside corner. 

The batter met it and drove it past Carlson for 
a home run. The score was now 9 to 6. Buddy’s 
throat went dry. So long as the bases were clear, 
he might just as well keep Arthur in. The next 
two boys were easy out. Fairview came to the 
bench. 

“How’s the wrist now ?” said Carrots. 

“It’s beginning to pain,” Arthur answered. “At 
the old place where I bumped it against the desk.” 

Buddy turned to Schuyler. Schuyler and Ahrens 
had been tossing a ball to each other ever since 
the game started. 

“Try Ahrens,” Carrots whispered. “If they hit 
you can yank him at once. Don’t waste Schuyler 
unless you have to.” 

Fairview did not score, and at the beginning of 
248 


FIGHTING FOR THE PENNANT 


the seventh inning Ahrens went out to try his luck. 
On the bench Arthur sat huddled, a forlorn, heart- 
sick figure. 

Schuyler was ready to jump to the rescue, but 
he was not needed. Bloomfield found Ahrens’s slow 
ball a complete mystery. Three little pop flies set- 
tled her. Again Fairview came to the bench. 

‘Trontown’s playing Garrison today,” said Car- 
rots. 

The information was like a dash of cold water. 
Garrison was next to last. Irontown would prob- 
ably win. If she did, Fairview would be back in 
second place. 

Bravely the Blue and White fought for runs. 
The “breaks” went against her. Carlson, Linguist 
and Buddy all hit the ball hard, but it went straight 
at waiting fielders. 

Neither side scored in the eighth, and Bloomfield 
did not score in her half of the ninth. Fairview 
went to bat. It was now — or never. 

And the baseball fates ruled that it should be 
never. Neale, the surest hitter on the team, was 
too anxious. He struck out. Yost’s grounder 
burned the grass, but the second-baseman smoth- 
ered it and threw him out. Carlson drove a liner 
at the pitcher — and the game was over. 

If Irontown had won The players tumbled 

out of their uniforms, got into street clothes and 
ran to the candy shop. 


249 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


Irontown had won. The tie was broken. Fair- 
view was in second place. 

Schuyler wanted to cry. 

Few boys looked at the league standing Monday 


morning : 

Irontown . . , 

W. 

L. 

3 

PC. 

785 

Bloomfield . . 

W. 
.. 6 

L. 

8 

PC. 

.428 

Fairview . . . 


4 

714 

Saddle River. 

.. 6 

8 

.428 

Hasbrouck . 

... 9 

5 

.642 

Gates 

•• 5 

9 

•357 

Lackawanna 

... 8 

6 

*571 

Garrison . . . . 

.. 4 

10 

.285 

Pompton . . . 

... 8 

6 

.571 

Brunswick . . 

•• 3 

II 

.214 


Those few boys who did study the standing re- 
marked that Hasbrouck was still climbing. 

Over Sunday Buddy had moped in despair. Poole 
and Wally had come to the house and had tried to 
cheer him, but had failed and had gone away de- 
pressed. Bob said nothing until Monday. After 
breakfast, before starting for work, he came up to 
Buddy's room. 

‘‘Kid," he said, “when you're up against it, there's 
one of two things to do." 

“What's that?" Buddy asked. 

“Quit or fight." 

It was the dash of spice that Buddy needed. 
The hopeless look left his eyes. His mouth 
straightened. 

“I won't quit," he said. His brain began to plan. 

He was face to face with the toughest problem 
of the season. The nine was a game behind and 
250 


FIGHTING FOR THE PENNANT 


might lose heart. Arthur’s wrist was gone — for 
how long nobody could tell. Schuyler alone was 
left, with four more games to play. 

There was one big chance. If ten days’ rest 
would bring Arthur’s wrist around, and if Schuyler 
could win the next three, Fairview might beat Iron- 
town in the final game. That would create a tie, 
and the league would order a play-off to decide the 
winner. 

As soon as Buddy reached school that morning 
he started in to restore confidence. Irontown’s one- 
game lead ? Pshaw ! That was nothing. They had 
another game to play with Irontown, didn’t they? 
Hadn’t they beaten Irontown once? Couldn’t they 
do if again? Of course they could. 

That would tie them up again, wouldn’t it? 
Well, in the play-off what was to prevent them from 
beating Irontown the third time and walking off 
with the championship? 

It was desperate logic. Many boys knew it. But 
they had been looking for something on which to 
base a hope and Buddy had offered what they 
wanted. The school began to cheer and yell. No- 
body asked what would happen if Fairview lost 
again. Nobody asked about Arthur’s wrist. 

Carrots came early to the field that day, and at 
once Buddy took him aside. After a moment they 
called Arthur. He said the pain in his wrist was 
almost gone. 


251 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


Carrots frowned. ‘'Almosts won’t get us any- 
thing. All right, Art. Don’t pitch a ball today.” 

The pitcher went back to the boys with whom he 
had been talking. 

‘‘He’s got to have rest,” Carrots said. 

“How long?” Buddy asked. 

The coach shrugged his shoulders. A rest might 
bring him around, and it might not. 

“Schuyler is strong enough to pitch two full 
games a week,” Buddy argued. 

“It isn’t strength that counts,” said Carrots. “It’s 
the strain of knowing that he’s got to win his 
games, and that there’s nobody to help if they 
pound him. And — and ” 

“And what?” Buddy asked. 

“One of those games is against Hasbrouck,” said 
Carrots. 

After that came silence. Somehow, Hasbrouck 
seemed more threatening than Irontown. 

“Suppose we ask Schuyler,” Buddy suggested at 
last. 

They shouted for the pitcher. He came toward 
them with his cap off, his rumpled hair breeze-tossed 
and tumbled, and a laugh in his eyes and on his 
face. He wasn’t a bit like the Schuyler of old. 

“Art’s wrist needs a rest,” said Buddy. “A big 
rest. Can you win the next three games?” 

Schuyler’s , face became serious. “I can try,” 
he answered. 


252 


FIGHTING FOR THE PENNANT 


“A rest may put Arthur right for the Irontown 
game/’ Carrots explained. 

‘T’ll do my part,” said Schuyler. Not a muscle 
twitched to show that he realized that he was cut- 
ting himself off from a chance to work in the game 
that might make or mar Fairview’s baseball for- 
tunes. In fact, he had not thought of Irontown. 

Before the day was out the school knew the truth. 
Arthur was out of it for at least a week, and maybe 
for the season. Carrots had ordered that he should 
not pitch a ball for a week. 

There was some consternation among the stu- 
dents, but the players, after one dazed moment, 
rallied to Schuyler’s aid. They told him that he 
could do it and that there was nothing to fear. 
Schuyler smiled quietly. He knew that he faced a 
task. 

Wednesday he pitched against Gates. Fairview 
won by a score of 8 to 6. There were murmurs 
because Gates had scored so often, but these did 
not come from the nine. The players knew that 
Schuyler had saved his arm as much as possible. 
He had been content to win, and after that the 
score did not interest him. Any of the players 
could have told you that he was saving his strength 
for Hasbrouck. 

An hour later the school knew that Irontown had 
beaten Brunswick, Hasbrouck had won from 
Bloomfield, Lackawanna had won from Pompton, 

253 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


and Garrison had triumphed over the still slipping 
team from Saddle River. The league standing 
read: 

W. L. PC. W. L. PC. 

Irontown 12 3 .800 Bloomfield 6 9 .400 

Fairview ii 4 .733 Saddle River. . . 6 9 .400 

Hasbrouck 10 5 .666 Gates 5 10 .333 

Lackawanna ... 9 6 .600 Garrison 5 10 .333 

Pompton 8 7 .533 Brunswick 3 12 .200 

The hardest test came next — Hasbrouck. And 
while Fairview was battling there, Irontown would 
be toying with poor, crippled Saddle River. If 
Fairview lost 

Buddy refused to think of defeat. He set him- 
self grimly to the task of having the nine ready. 
Schuyler was coached and watched as though he 
were a delicate baby. 

Students came swarming to each practice period. 
But now, instead of cheering and singing and mak- 
ing merry, a strange silence held them. A good 
play would bring a quick shout — and then the noise 
would stop. The whole school seemed to know that 
this was not a time for frolic; this was a fight. 

The night before the Hasbrouck game Schuyler 
went to bed early. If a night’s sleep would make 
him any fitter, then he’d get the sleep. Before 
slipping between the sheets he took the Blue and 
White flag down from the wall. 

‘'Good luck, Fairview,” he muttered. 

254 


FIGHTING FOR THE PENNANT 


He went to sleep with the flag under his pillow. 
When he awoke, he felt strong, alert, refreshed. 
He went to the field for morning practice. The 
talk was all of Hasbrouck, of her string of victories, 
of the best way to stop her. 

After dinner the nine left town. Thirty students 
went with them. The ride over was rather silent. 
The officials of the league had issued fielding and 
batting averages, and the players studied the ratings 
of the Hasbrouck players. Several of her boys had 
hit over .300. Schuyler shut his lips tight and re- 
solved that they wouldn't hit .300 against him. 

In the Hasbrouck dressing-room the nine got into 
uniform. Hasbrouck students stood around at 
the windows and shouted in that Fairview was go- 
ing to be the eleventh victim. Pilgrim bit his lips 
and muttered that he'd like to hand those fellows 
something. 

The Hasbrouck players were dressing only a few 
feet away. Carrots and Buddy studied them. Here 
a boy dropped a stocking ; there a boy fumbled with 
a shoe and growled under his breath. Once or twice 
a quarrel flared and went out. 

Carrots drew a slow breath. ‘‘They're strained 
to the breaking point," he told Buddy. “They see 
a chance for a championship. They know that a 
single defeat will be the end. They're scared stiff 
for fear they'll lose today. Any team that feels 
that way is licked if the other team gets a lead." 

255 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


‘‘We’ll get the lead,” said Buddy. When the 
warm-up practice was over, he drew the players 
around him on the bench. 

“Hasbrouck is ready to crack,” he announced. 
“Isn’t she. Carrots?” 

The huckster boy nodded. “She’s ready to crack 
wide open,” he added. 

“Get the jump on them,” Buddy said, “and this 
game is ours.” 

Schuyler’s face hardened. “Get me a couple of 
runs and I’ll beat them if I have to throw my 
arm out.” 

They got him the runs in the first inning. Pil- 
grim and Hill singled, McCarter sacrificed, and 
Neale hit a corking liner to left field. Pilgrim and 
Hill scored, and came running to the bench wild 
with excitement. The Hasbrouck infielders gath- 
ered around their pitcher and wrangled. 

“Didn’t I tell you?” Carrots chuckled. 

“Play ball !” Fairview’s thirty rooters screeched 
gleefully. The Hasbrouck players went back to the 
stations, and Yost scratched a single past the short- 
stop. Neale raced to third. 

The pitcher was sent from the mound. A new 
hurler appeared. Carlson struck out, but Linquist 
singled, and Neale scored with the third run. There 
was more wrangling out on the field. Buddy gave 
the ball a vicious blow, but it fell into the hands of 
an outfielder. The side was out. 

256 


FIGHTING FOR THE PENNANT 


“Hasbrouck will come to bat too anxious to hit,” 
said Carrots. *'Use your noodle, Schuyler.” 

Schuyler nodded and kept the ball away from the 
plate. The Hasbrouck batters swung crazily. The 
game that had been so badly feared suddenly began 
to seem like the softest kind of a picnic. 

When the seventh inning arrived the decision 
was no longer in doubt. Hasbrouck was beaten— 
decisively beaten. Carrots lolled back on the bench. 

‘‘When a team cracks after winning a string of 
victories,” he said, “it cracks bad. Remember how 
the Giants went to pieces against Brooklyn last 
fall after winning more than twenty straight?” 

“Wasn't that the time McGraw left the field in 
disgust?” Neale asked. 

Carrots nodded. “That Hasbrouck captain will 
be leaving in a minute.” 

But Carrots was wrong. The Hasbrouck captain 
stuck with his players to the finish. Crestfallen and 
silent, he led them from the field. 

Fairview could hardly believe that she had met 
the mighty Hasbrouck and had triumphed. The 
danger past. Gosh! wasn't that a comfort! 

There was no silent studying of averages on 
the way back. From end to end the stage coach 
echoed the sound of excited, babbling voices. Some- 
times the school song would be sung with a volume 
that almost rattled the windows. 

When the stage arrived at Fairview, the student 

257 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


body was waiting. Grammar school boys were 
also there. A mighty roar went up when Buddy 
announced the result. 

‘"Now,” said Neale, ‘'if Saddle River has done 
us a favor by beating Irontown ” 

But Saddle River had lost again. And Lacka- 
wanna, Garrison and Bloomfield had triumphed over 
Brunswick, Pompton and Gates. 

The league standing was soon ready : 

W. L. PC. W. L. PC. 

Irontown 13 3 .812 Bloomfield 7 9 .437 

Fairview 12 4 .750 Saddle River... 6 10 .375 

Hasbrouck 10 6 .625 Garrison 6 10 .375 

Lackawanna ...10 6 .625 Gates 511 .312 

Pompton 8 8 .500 Brunswick .... 3 13 .187 

“Gosh!’’ said Neale. “Even if Brunswick wins 
the two games left she can’t get out of last 
place.” 

“She has a gym, and lockers, and a paid coach,” 
McCarter teased. 

Buddy frowned and shook his head warningly. 
But Schuyler did not take offense. 

“Wasn’t I the gillie?” he laughed. 

The cellar championship was settled. The real 
championship, however, was still in doubt. Next 
Wednesday the nine played Pompton, and on Sat- 
urday it closed the season with Irontown. 

Buddy did not particularly fear Pompton. She 
258 


FIGHTING FOR THE PENNANT 


had earned but one victory from a team in the first 
division. Seven of her victories had been at the 
expense of second division teams — two from Bloom- 
field, two from Saddle River, two from Brunswick 
and one from Gates. 

Monday the round of practice began again. The 
biggest event of the day was when Arthur Stone 
took his place alongside Schuyler and began to 
throw to Buddy. It was the first time he had used 
his arm in a week. 

Carrots said he could work fifteen minutes — and 
Carrots held a watch. Arthur reported that the 
pain was gone. Buddy’s face lighted up as though 
he had heard some very good news. 

Next day Arthur pitched for half an hour. At 
the finish he came running over to where Carrots 
stood. 

“Not a pain,” he cried. “It feels great.” 

“If Schuyler beats Pompton tomorrow,” the 
coach answered, “I guess we’ll give Irontown 
something to think about.” 

Schuyler smiled. If Fairview was beaten it 
would not be because he had not tried. He had 
been asked to win three games. He had won two. 
Just one more, and then it was up to Arthur. 

Next day the school throbbed with excitement. 
At morning assembly there was a restlessness that 
would not have been tolerated at any other time. 
However, the work for the year was about over, 

259 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


and Dr. Minor made allowances. In fact, he was 
going to see that Pompton game himself. 

Boys whose classroom work was usually excellent 
today stumbled woefully. Other boys failed to 
hear when their names were called, and stared 
dreamily at the ceiling. And in the first hour of 
the afternoon session, a boy was asked for his an- 
swer on a problem on which his class had been 
working, and he gave the answer as .764. At once 
two other boys jumped from their seats and said 
that he had made a mistake and had given what 
Fairview’s percentage would be if she won that 
day. 

When classes were over the students assembled 
outside the school. There were cries of, ‘^Give the 
nine a chance to get dressed.’’ Buddy and the 
players hurried off to the field house. 

They were not on the field long before the stu- 
dents appeared marching with a lock-step. A chant 
of ‘‘Hip, hip, hip, hip,” timed their stride. Three 
deep, they spread out along the first-base 
line. 

Minute after minute passed. Pompton should 
have arrived before this. The players and the 
students grew anxious. Finally Dr. Minor came 
walking toward the field from the direction of the 
school. He called Buddy. The other boys wanted 
to rush toward him, but did not dare. 

“Pompton,” the principal said, “telephoned that 
260 


FIG},ITING FOR THE PENNANT 

she was delayed and would arrive as soon as pos- 
sible/’ 

Buddy shouted the message up and down the 
field. The players quit their practice and came in 
to their bench and sat down. Carrots frowned. 
He didn’t like this at all. He was afraid that the 
squad would get nervous waiting. 

If he had some news that would keep them talk- 
ing His eyes narrowed a moment and then 

popped open. 

‘"Anybody remember what that Lackawanna cap- 
tain said the time he was here?” he asked suddenly. 

Heads were shaken slowly. Nobody remem- 
bered. 

“He said that Irontown had rubbed it in scor- 
ing those twenty-one runs. Remember?” 

“I remember that,” said Hill. 

“And that the beating had taken the heart out 
of his team,” Carrots went on. 

“Oh, yes.” McCarter nodded. “I remember 
now.” 

“And that his team was sore, and that the next 
time they met Irontown ” 

“They play Irontown today,” cried Carlson. 

Everybody remembered now. Lackawanna had 
vowed that she would win. 

Here was a topic rich with meat. The players 
discussed it eagerly and forgot all about nervous- 
ness. Only Schuyler was silent. With such a 
261 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


golden prospect, his part lay clearly before him. 
He had to win! 

‘‘Here comes Pompton,” cried the students at 
last. I 

The players scurried away from the bench to 
limber up again before the cry of “Play ball!'’ 
Schuyler, Arthur and Ahrens all began throwing 
to Buddy. 

Pompton did not delay. She hurried her dress- 
ing, hurried her practice, and announced that she 
was ready. 

The game started an hour late; and at once 
it gave promise of being a real game. The second 
Pompton batter tripled and scored on a sacrifice 
fly. 

“We’ll get that one back,” said Buddy. 

Pompton got two more in the second. A single, 
a base on balls, an error by Neale and an infield out 
did the damage. The third inning began with the 
score 3 to o against Fairview, and with Neale 
calling himself a fat-head under his breath. 

But now Schuyler seemed to have found him- 
self. Pompton went out weakly in the third, and 
weaker still in the fourth. In the fifth, thanks to 
a whale of a home run hit by Linquist, Fairview 
tallied her first run. The starting of the sixth 
found the score 3 to i against the Blue and 
White. 

Schuyler pitched the sixth hoping that that home 
262 


FIGHTING FOR THE PENNANT 


run was the start of a rally. Fairview, however, 
failed to repeat when she came to bat again. 

The seventh inning started. Pompton was again 
blanked. Fairview's rooters broke into imploring 
cheers. The lucky seventh. Come on, Fairview. 
Oh, come on! 

Fairview started none too brightly. Schuyler 
struck out on three pitched balls, and Pilgrim was 
thrown out on an infield grounder. Hill bunted and 
beat the throw, McCarter crashed a single to cen- 
ter, and Neale was purposely given his base on 
balls. 

On the bench Schuyler shook his head as though 
in pain. *Tf I had got on,'^ he whispered, ‘Ve’d 
have a run in now and only one out.” 

Yost seemed to resent the fact that the pitcher 
had passed Neale to get at him. He choked his bat, 
stepped in on a curve, and shot a hit to right field. 
Hill and McCarter scored the tying runs. 

The Fairview rooters went crazy with joy. 
Schuyler threw his cap on the ground and pounded 
his knees with his fists. 

‘^Come on, Carlson,” he pleaded. 

Carlson also got a base on balls. The bases 
were crowded again and Linquist was up — ^Linguist 
who had hit the home run. 

‘"Here goes your old ball game,” shrieked the 
students. 

Linquist tried to murder the first pitch. 

263 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


*The chump,” said Carrots. ‘‘Can’t he be satis- 
fied with a short hit ?” 

Evidently Linquist was trying to crack another 
knockout blow. He swung heavily at the next 
pitch and popped a little fly that the pitcher caught. 

“Home runs are bad,” Carrots sighed. “They 
make a fellow greedy.” 

Schuyler went out to the mound feeling that but 
for him more runs would have been scored. If he 
hadn’t struck out 

“Come on, Schuyler!” cried Yost. “Hold them 
now. They’re easy.” 

Oh, he’d hold them! He put everything he 
had on the ball, and three Pompton batters walked 
to the plate and trudged away again, hitless. The 
students broke into a roar : 

He’s all right ! 

Who’s all right ? 

Schuyler Arch. 

Buddy was first up for Fairview, and flied out. 
Schuyler struck out again. Pilgrim was safe on 
an error, and Hill’s hit sent him to third. It looked 
as though Fairview was going to go into the lead. 
But McCarter’s liner went right at the shortstop, 
and that boy knocked it down and tossed to the 
first-baseman. 

Schuyler strode to the mound again. His face 
showed that he was distressed. If he hadn’t struck 
264 


FIGHTING FOR THE PENNANT 


out again He shook his head. He’d hold 

Pompton, and he’d keep holding her, and maybe 
in the end Fairview would score the winning 
run. 

Buddy left the bench slowly. The sun had gone 
down behind the trees. The Irontown game, prob- 
ably started on time, was now over. If Lacka- 
wanna had won He beckoned to the students. 

Poole ran over. 

“Telephone to Irontown,” Buddy whispered. 
“Find out how their game went.” 

Poole dashed away. 

Pompton tried hard in her half of the ninth, but 
against Schuyler’s pitching she was helpless. True, 
one boy got on, but that was owing to a fumble 
by Hill. Despairing of being batted around, he 
tried to steal second, and Buddy threw him out. 

“Now!” cried Carrots as the nine came to the 
bench. “Get a run this time and it’s all over.” 

Neale was first to bat. Cries and cheers and a 
bedlam of yells greeted him. The first two balls 
he let go by, and one was a ball and one was a strike. 
He swung at the third. The first-baseman made 
a jump and a clutch and straightened his back re- 
gretfully. Neale ran to first, edged toward second, 
saw he could not make it and came back. 

“O Yost,” pleaded the students. 

Yost hit to the third-baseman, and Neale was 
forced out at second. 


265 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


Carlson was implored to do his prettiest. He 
struck out. 

Again Linquist came to bat. Carrots, however, 
had talked to him on the bench. Instead of swing- 
ing as though he wanted to drive the ball as far 
as Europe, he took a short, snappy chop. And his 
chopping blow was good enough to drop the ball 
in the outfield for two bases. Yost was held on 
third. 

^'Oh, you Buddy!” screeched the students. ‘‘Clean 
it up ! Clean it up I” 

Buddy dumped the ball in front of the plate and 
streaked toward first. Yost did not dare to try 
for home. However, he did almost as well. He 
worried the catcher into holding the ball a moment, 
and when that boy finally threw to first. Buddy was 
safe. 

Three on the bases — and Schuyler at bat. 

The pitcher’s face was white as he arose from 
the bench. Twice he had struck out weakly. If 
he should do so again, he would be robbing Fair- 
view of her chances. 

“Here comes Poole on a run,” said Neale. 
“Didn’t Buddy send him on an errand?” 

The whole bench turned and looked. Poole 
reached the rooters, broke through, cried something 
to them, and kept on. But before he reached the 
bench the students were shouting the glad 
tidings : 


266 


FIGHTING FOR THE PENNANT 


‘'Lackawanna beat Irontown. Kill it, Schuyler! 
Win your own game! Drive it out, old man!’' 

The white left Schuyler’s face. Something like 
desperation was in his eyes. If he hit, Fairview 
and Irontown would be tied again. And Arthur 
Stone, after a two weeks’ rest, would be in shape 
to fight tooth and nail for the final game and the 
championship. 

Schuyler stepped to the plate. The Pompton 
catcher crouched into position. 

"You’re a cheesy batter,” he said pleasantly. 
"You won’t hit the ball.” 

Schuyler said nothing. He watched the pitcher, 
watched, and watched, and watched. When the 
ball was pitched, he swung and missed. 

"Only takes one to hit it,” McCarter cried en- 
couragingly from the first-base coaching box. 

Schuyler’s hands were like ice. Again the pitcher 
threw the ball ; again he swung and missed. 

An agony of hopelessness seized him. His cour- 
age fled. He stood there waiting for the next pitch 
convinced that he would not hit it. 

Out from the students came a song: 

Come, lift your voices, let them ring. 

To Fairview^s praise and glory 

It stiffened Schuyler like an electric shock. He 
was a Fairview fellow, and Fairview’s motto was 
267 


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fair play and stick to your guns. He gripped the 
bat tighter. He might fail. He might strike out 
again. But it would not be because he had wilted 
and had quit. 

Slowly the bat came back. His arms grew tense. 
He waited. 

The pitcher’s arm came forward. 

Never had Schuyler been able to judge a ball as 
he judged this. His eyes seemed gifted, momen- 
tarily, with a marvelous vision. He saw it shift 
its course ever so slightly, saw it break, saw it 
dip 

His bat swung out. 

He felt the shock of wood meeting leather. He 
did not look to see where the ball had gone. He 
heard the roar of voices in his ears. He raced for 
first, crossed it, stumbled as he tried to slow up, and 
found himself hugged by a dozen arms while other 
arms tried to reach him. 

‘‘Right over the shortstop’s head,” screamed a 
voice in his ears. “We’re tied with Irontown 
again. O, you Schuyler boy!” 

“Please let me go,” he begged. They picked him 
up bodily and ran with him toward the field house. 
He was tired, and muscle sore, and jolted and prod- 
ded with elbows and hands and shoulders — and 
very, very happy. 


CHAPTER XII 


FAIRVIEW’S GLORY 

N ext day Fairview came down to earth. The 
top rung of the ladder was still to be reached. 
Irontown had to be beaten. 

Schuyler ceased to hold the center of the stage. 
Everybody was interested in Arthur. When he 
pitched that afternoon boys began to crowd in back 
of Buddy to watch his delivery. Carrots chased 
them. He wanted nothing that might make Arthur 
nervous. 

Arthur, though, appeared to have left his nerves 
at home. He pitched until told to stop. Then, 
languidly, he ran his arms into a sweater and 
strolled off with Schuyler. 

‘^Arm feel all right?” Schuyler asked. 

Arthur nodded. ‘^Never felt better, thanks to 
you.” He was silent a moment. ‘Tf Fairview 
wins that pennant, the school can thank you, Schuy- 
ler. You fought alone, and gave me a chance to 
come back.” 

Schuyler's cheeks flushed. ‘"Oh, forget it,” he 
protested. 

“I won't,” Arthur said, ‘'and the school won't 
269 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


forget it, either. You're all right, Schuyler." 

‘"No," Schuyler answered slowly; "‘it's the school 
that's all right." 

Next day was Friday, the day before the game. 
The students planned a monster demonstration — 
cheers, songs, a dance around the diamond, and a 
parade through the village with the players riding 
on willing shoulders. But Buddy, getting news of 
what was intended, decided that there would be 
no celebration at all. He wanted the nine calm and 
quiet, not all keyed up and tense. 

“Everybody to the field on the run," he ordered, 
“as soon as classes are over." 

While the students gathered leisurely that after- 
noon in front of the school the players hustled into 
uniform and got out on the field. Buddy warmed 
up Arthur. As soon as his arm was limber he was 
sent to the mound and batters were called to the 
plate. 

Only one question interested the captain today. 
Could Arthur fool the batters? Arthur could. Fif- 
teen minutes later the batting was at an end, and 
Buddy announced that that was all for the day. 
The players were hustled back to the field house. 

When the students arrived all primed for clamor 
and excitement, the nine was gone. To each player 
Buddy had given the same advice; 

“Keep away from the field house until noon 
tomorrow." 


270 


FAIRVIEW’S GLORY 


The captain was on his way home when he met 
Carrots hurrying down a side street. The huck- 
ster boy stopped short. 

‘‘Hello! What’s wrong?” 

‘T cut the practice short,” Buddy explained. “The 
school wanted to do things with a bang. I was 
afraid ” 

“Did you pitch Arthur a little while — try him 
out ?” 

Buddy nodded. His face told what the result had 
been. Carrots grinned. 

“You wise old owl, you,” he said. “You won’t 
need a coach next season.” 

It had been easy for Buddy to give the order 
to stay away from the field until noon. It was hard 
for him to keep it. A dozen times, after breakfast 
next morning, he wanted to go there and walk 
around, to feel the dirt under his feet, to view the 
field from behind the plate. However, he re- 
strained his desires — but he asked his mother to 
please, please have dinner early. 

He ate sparingly, for he knew the dangers of an 
overloaded stomach. Then came a session in his 
room when he worked a few drops of oil into the 
cup of his mitt. At last he strode off to meet his 
fate. 

Early as it was, high school boys and grammar 
school boys were gathering. In the field house 
Buddy found Schuyler and Neale and Wally 
271 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


Hamilton. The pitcher and the second-baseman 
were studying the record of the last Irontown 
game. 

‘They didn’t hit you at all, Schuyler,” Neale 
said. 

“They won’t hit Art,” Schuyler answered. 

After that players kept dropping in. Outside 
there was the sound of a great crowd gathering. 
And by and by, just as Fairview was getting ready 
to go out, a great clamor of horns arose. Nearer 
and nearer it came. The players ran to the door- 
way. 

Down the road swept four carry-alls. Irontown 
had arrived! 

“Gee !” said Neale. “When we went to Irontown 
last year we only had one stage.” 

“Stages don’t win ball games,” said Schuyler. 
He walked out with an arm across Arthur Stone’s 
shoulders. 

Captain Drake, of Irontown, shook hands with 
Buddy. His players had ridden over in uniform 
and they did not have to dress. Irontown took 
possession of the field in back of the third-base line. 
Fairview held its old place along the first-base 
path. 

Soon a dozen baseballs were flying about. Grad- 
ually order ruled. Irontown had the field to her- 
self. From in back of third base came a gay, lilting, 
rollicking : 


272 


FAIRVIEW’S GLORY 


Men of iron. 

Men of Irontown; 

Yours will be the victory. 

Yours will be the crown. 

Yours will be the glory, 

Theirs the saddened frown — 

Men of iron. 

Men of Irontown. 

Fifteen minutes later Fairview took the field. 
And then another song was heard : 

Come, lift your voices, let them ring, 

To Fairview’s praise and glory 

Schuyler wondered how he had ever been able 
to think that Men of Iron was the better song. 

Presently the preliminary practice was over. It 
was time for the game to start. A hush settled 
over the field as though boys were holding their 
breaths and waiting for something to happen. 

Arthur Stone walked out to position. A Fair- 
view cheer rose and fell. Again that hush. The 
Irontown hatter stepped to the plate. The voices 
of the coaches rose shrilly. Buddy crouched and 
motioned with his mitt. Arthur shook his head. 
Buddy motioned again. Arthur nodded and 
pitched. 

‘^Ball one!’’ 

A sharp yell from Irontown. Once more Arthur 

273 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


delivered the ball. The batter lifted a fly to Carl- 
son. 

It was Fairview’s turn to cheer; and when the 
next two batters were thrown out by McCarter, 
the cheer became a roar. 

‘‘There’s going to be some excitement in this 
game,” said Carrots. 

Nor was he mistaken. Pilgrim hit the first ball 
pitched for a single. Hill hit the second ball, and 
Irontown executed a beautiful double play. Mc- 
Carter did not hit the ball at all. 

“It’s going to be a close game,” said Carrots. 

Again he was right. The end of the fifth inning 
found the score o-o. 

Arthur had pitched superbly. The Irontown 
pitcher had done as well. The cheering sections 
were hoarse and tired. But the game went on, 
snappy, thrilling, teeming with possibilities. And 
back of it all was the fact that the nine that scored 
first would probably win. 

Irontown got a boy as far as third in the sixth. 
Buddy’s heart almost stood still. There was only 
one out at the time. Arthur, though, was equal to 
the emergency. He caused the next batter to pop 
into the air, and the third boy’s grounder was easy 
for Yost. 

Buddy came to the bench still shaken by the force 

of that Irontown threat. If that run had scored 

He sat down beside Carrots. 

274 


FAIRVIEW’S GLORY 


‘Try hitting that curve before it breaks/^ said 
Carrots. 

Neale, Yost and Carlson all tried, but could not 
hit safely. They edged forward as far as the bat- 
ter's box .would permit. The Irontown pitcher 
grinned at their helplessness. 

Irontown did not get a runner on in the seventh. 

“Wait him out this time," Carrots counseled. 

So Linguist, Buddy and Arthur Stone all waited 
the Irontown pitcher out, and got no results. Lin- 
guist, forced to hit with the count three balls and 
two strikes, struck out. Buddy's fly was easy for 
the outfield, and Arthur's bounder was smothered 
by the infield. 

The eighth inning started, and still the score- 
keepers had nothing in their books but ciphers. 

Something had to be done. A run had to be 
scored someway. Buddy's mind raced. How, how, 
how? 

Mechanically, his catching was all that could be 
desired. His mind, however, was looking ahead. 
Pilgrim would be first up for Fairview. If he could 
get on base, if he could 

Crack! The batter had hit the ball. Buddy, 
straightening by magic, saw the ball bound toward 
Hill, saw the third-baseman run to the left, trap it 
and throw to Yost. The umpire's arm waved “out." 
Buddy's mind went back to its problem. 

This Irontown pitcher kept sticking the ball be- 

275 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


tween the knee and the waist. If Fairview should 
begin to hit it, if only bunts 

Crack ! Another hit. This time Buddy saw the 
ball drop into Neale’s hands. The moment the catch 
had been made he raised two fingers, shouted, ^‘Two 
out, fellows,” and was off 'with his thoughts. 

Why, the kind of low ball the Irontown pitcher 
threw was perfect for bunting. None of the play- 
ers was good at that type of hitting. However, 
might they not just as well try bunts and swing at 
the ball and get nowheres? And if Pilgrim, the 
fastest base-runner on the team, got on the 
bases 

Crack! Another hit. Buddy gasped. Pilgrim 
was running with his back to the diamond. The 
Irontown rooters were frenzied. 

Around the bases an Irontown runner sped. No- 
body watched him. All eyes were on Pilgrim. 
How he did run! Now it seemed that the ball 
would go far over his head ; now it seemed that it 
wouldn’t go so far over; and now it seemed as 
though Pilgrim had a chance. The Irontown cheers 
died down. 

Suddenly Pilgrim swung halfway around. Five, 
six, seven steps he ran, and sprang into the air. The 
ball struck his glove and fell, and he caught it with 
the other hand. 

Bedlam on Fairview’s side of the field. Cheers 
for “Pilgrim, Pilgrim, Pilgrim.” Arthur, a little 
276 


FAIRVIEW’S GLORY 


whi'ie, walked toward the bench and sat down, 
trembling. It had been a narrow shave. 

Buddy was breathing fast. Irontown, no doubt, 
had been shaken by that play. He had been shaken, 
too, but for all that his mind was back with its 
problem. He caught Ahrens by the shoulder. 

"^Run out and meet Pilgrim,’’ he ordered. ‘Tell 
him to walk in slowly — slowly, mind. I want him 
to have his wind when he goes to bat.” 

Ahrens departed on a run. Carrots looked up 
inquiringly. 

“What’s the idea. Bud?” 

“We’re going after Irontown,” Buddy answered. 
He took off his chest protector and sat down beside 
the coach. 

Pilgrim came to the bench, blushing and doffing 
his cap to the cheers. 

“Kill time,” said Buddy. “You’re not all right 
yet. Fix your shoe laces.” 

Pilgrim gave him a surprised glance, but obeyed. 
He fussed with one lace and then fussed with the 
other. When he stood up at last his breathing was 
normal. 

“Now,” said Buddy, “listen. Go up there. Take 
a swing at the first ball. I don’t care where it is, 
swing at it. Miss it. Then wait for the next good 
one and bunt.” 

“All right.” Pilgrim turned away. 

“Wait !” The outfielder turned. “When you hit 
277 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


the ball, go for first, and when you reach the bag 
keep on for second.” 

‘^Suppose the ball beats me to first?” Pilgrim 
asked. 

“Where are you bound for when you leave the 
plate?” Buddy asked. 

“Why,” Pilgrim stammered, “for — for 

“Yes?” Buddy asked. 

“Oh!” Pilgrim understood. “For second,” he 
answered. He selected his bat and walked out. 

Carrots leaned closer to Buddy. “What's the 
game?” he asked. 

“That pitcher is using a perfect bunting ball,” 
Buddy answered. “We might as well try that. 
We're not hitting him.” 

Carrots scratched his head. “Oh, but I'm tlie 
boob! I never thought of it because I knew the 
team was punk on bunting. Taking chances, eh? 
And taking a chance on Pilgrim upsetting their in- 
field, eh? Gee! Buddy, if he gets away with it 
you're in clover.” 

The whole bench had heard Pilgrim's instruc- 
tions. Eagerly they crouched forward, more, more, 
more 

“Cheese it!” Carrots hissed. “Want Irontown 
to smell that something’s up?” 

The first ball was wide. Pilgrim took a heavy 
swing. From the Irontown rooters came laughs 
and advice for Pilgrim to get an oar. 

278 


FAIRVIEW’S GLORY 


The next ball was wide, too. The next was over. 

For once in his life Pilgrim made a perfect bunt. 
Gently it dropped, ten feet to the left of the plate, 
and began to roll easily toward the third-baseman. 

Like a frightened boy, Pilgrim raced down the 
base path. The Irontown third-baseman snapped 
up the ball with one hand and threw toward 
first. 

Pilgrim’s foot hit the bag a second before the 
ball arrived. The first-baseman, receiving the 
throw, glanced about for the runner. No runner 
was in sight. Startled, he glanced toward second. 
He saw Pilgrim’s scurrying legs, heard the warning 
yells of Irontown and the hopeful screams of Fair- 
view, and promptly lost his head. His throw to 
se ‘’'nd was wild. 

Schuyler was coaching at third, and Pilgrim 
caught the signal — come on! Halfway there he 
caught another signal — slide! Forward he threw 
himself, and there was a confusion of dust and 
player and ball. 

‘'Safe !” ruled the umpire. 

“Oh, come oflf,” cried Drake, the Irontown cap- 
tain. He caught himself, and bit his lips and turned 
away. The man who had made the decision was 
Irontown’s own umpire. 

The Fairview boys had forgotten their hoarse- 
ness. A song that had not been sung for months 
suddenly was heard : 


279 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


‘We’ll get the county pennant and we’ll get it good and 
tight, 

We’ll get it without fighting, it won’t even be a fight” 

Not even a fight? A hoot of derision came from 
the Irontown students. Even Fairview began to see 
the joke. For a moment the song faltered; then it 
went on. Finally the last note died away. Silence 
settled over the field. 

Buddy felt as though he had ten hearts and that 
they were all beating at once. Yet, outwardly he 
was calm. He knew that here was Fairview's big 
chance. A runner on third and none out. The ex- 
citement of the moment played havoc with his judg- 
ment. When Hill looked at him he gave his order 
in one word : - L 

‘‘Bunt!’’ 

Hill walked toward the plate. 

“Hold on I” cried Carrots to the captain. “You’re 
woozy now. Bud. You can’t bunt. The whole in- 
field is playing in to cut off that run at the plate.” 

Buddy gave a start. Here! He couldn’t let ex- 
citement grip him if it was going to lead him to 
give foolish orders. He calmed himself with an 
effort and signaled to Schuyler. And when Hill 
reached the plate, he found Schuyler flashing a new 
order to him from the third-base coaching box — hit 
it out! 

Hill tried hard, but succeeded only in lifting a 
280 


FAIRVIEW’S GLORY 


foul. The Irontown catcher caught the ball. 

From the Irontown section came a hopeful *. 

‘‘Men of Iron, 

Men of Irontown; 

Yours will be the victory, 

Yours will be the crown” 

McCarter hit the first ball pitched. It went right 
at the shortstop. Pilgrim made a break for home. 

'^Come back !” cried Schuyler. There didn’t seem 
to be a chance to score on a hit like that ; and, be- 
sides, McCarter would make only the second out 
and there would be another chance. 

Pilgrim came back to the bag. The Irontown 
shortstop fumbled. It was too late then for a fresh 
start for the plate. Pilgrim, grinning, watched Mc- 
Carter reach first base safely. 

Schuyler swallowed a lump in his throat. He 
forgot that what he had done had been proper base- 
ball. His only thought was that if he hadn’t called 
Pilgrim back a run would be in. 

McCarter, jubilant, took a big lead off first. He 
planned to go down to second on the first ball 
pitched. He edged off a little more, a little more — 
and then came a quick throw from the pitcher and 
he was out. 

Again Irontown’s song, this time jubilant: 

“Men of Iron, 

Men of Irontown” 

281 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


Schuyler groaned. If he hadn’t held Pilgrim 

back Oh, why wasn’t he a good hitter, so that 

he could go in there and bat for somebody and re- 
deem his mistake? 

Neale came to the plate. Fairview, with her 
golden chance almost gone, sang with courage un- 
broken : 

“Come, lift your voices, let them ring. 

To Fairview^s praise and glory” 

With two out, the Irontown infield played back. 
The very hunch of Neale’s shoulders told that he 
was there to hit solidly. 

Schuyler, watching with burning eyes, caught the 
flash of the catcher’s signal. Two fingers in the 
hollow of the big mitt. He watched the ball that 
came. A swift one, straight over, and waist high. 

Neale fouled it. 

‘‘Strike one!” 

“Y-aaaa-h!” came from Irontown. 

The next pitch missed the plate. 

“Ball one!” 

Again Schuyler caught that flash of a signal — 
two fingers in the hollow of the mitt. 

“Watch it now,” he yelled suddenly. 

It was the call for the batter to look his way. 
Neale’s head turned. Schuyler signaled him to 
bunt the next ball. Pilgrim, aware of what was 
coming, gathered himself for a dash for home. 

283 


FAIRVIEW’S GLORY 


On the Fairview bench there was commotion. 
Buddy jumped up and then sat down. Schuyler 
saw it all. His body turned cold. He was not ex- 
pected to give orders like that without authority 
from the captain. He had taken the game into his 
own hands. Suppose Neale failed? 

But an inner voice whispered that it was the play. 
The ball would be waist high, perfect for bunting. 
Of course, Neale was not much on that type of hit- 
ting. The infield, however, was playing back. A 
bunt was not expected. The play might come off. 
And it was a perfect ball for a bunt, waist high. 

Schuyler’s face grew tense. Would the pitcher 
never throw the ball ? At last it was on its way. 

He saw Neale choke his bat. He saw the bat 
pushed out. He heard a grunt from Drake, the 
Irontown captain, and out of the corner of his eyes 
he saw Drake swoop in. He saw the bat meet the 
ball. 

‘'Home !” he shrilled. 

He might have saved his breath, for Pilgrim was 
already on his way. 

A moment later Fairview’s cheer arose to a 
shriek. Pilgrim was across the plate, Neale was 
only a few steps from first, and out on the diamond 
Drake was juggling with a twisting ball that had 
eluded his grasp. 

Oh, the wild joy of that minute! Fairview root- 
ers tumbled about on the grass, Schuyler’s head 
383 


THE COUNTY PENNANT 


swam. Buddy, on the bench, kept breaking out in 
little, hysterical laughs. 

‘‘Why did he do that. Carrots ? Why did he sig- 
nal for a bunt 

“You can search me,’* said Carrots, “but he knew 
what he was doing.” 

The Irontown infield gathered about the pitcher. 
When they went back to their places at last, their 
faces were hard and determined. The pitcher 
whipped three balls across the plate ; and Yost, with 
bulging eyes, watched them go past and did not 
offer at any of them. 

“Batter out!” ruled the umpire. 

“Gee!” said Carrots. “They’re fighting mad 
now. First half of the ninth. Hold them, fellows.” 

The players lingered at the bench. They were 
waiting for Schuyler. He came in to them on a run. 

“I wasn’t trying to get fresh, Buddy,” he cried 
rapidly. “I read that catcher’s signal. It was for 
a straight ball, waist high. And the infield was 
playing back, and ” 

Buddy’s hand gave his shoulder a resounding 
whack. That was all. Schuyler dropped down on 
the bench with a peaceful smile. Good old Fair- 
view! Plucky Fairview! Simple, unaffected, hon- 
est Fairview! i 

Buddy and Arthur Stone walked out together. 

“I’m going to cut loose with everything I have/* 
Arthur said. 


284 


FAIRVIEW’S GLORY 


He needed every inch of it. The first Irontown 
boy hit a liner that almost knocked Hill down, but 
the third-baseman clung to it and wrung his hands. 
The next boy hit the ball so high into the air that it 
seemed only a speck. The spectators held their 
breath. Down it came, where Neale was waiting. 
The second-baseman made a neat catch. 

Fairview scented victory. A deafening shout 
arose as the third batter, striking too soon, dribbled 
the ball to Hill for the third out. The game was over. 

County champions! Again and again the cry 
echoed across the field. Joining hands, the students 
formed a ring around the players and danced until 
they were tired. 

Irontown had little to say. Drake was heart- 
broken because his error had lost the game. He 
climbed into one of the carry-alls with two players 
trying to comfort him. The horns began to toot. 
The vehicles rattled and groaned and turned. Off 
they rolled with the horns still tooting — but it was 
a different kind of blare than that which had sig- 
naled their arrival. Irontown in defeat was not as 
mighty as Irontown in triumph. 

Into the field house the nine romped at last. 
Thrills chased themselves up and down Schuyler’s 
back. County champions ! Gosh ! 

A sudden idea came to him. Had any of the fel- 
lows ever seen the high school from the little hill to 
the west ? Come on ; he’d show them. 

285 


.THE COUNTY PENNANT 


He led the way until he came to that thorough- 
fare that looked as though the workmen had forgot 
to finish it. 

‘‘Down there, fellows,” he said. Below, snuggled 
in a little hollow, was the high school. Its walls, 
faded and gray, rose peacefully from the stretches 
of green lawn. 

The players grew strangely silent. 

“Ever see it that way before?” Schuyler asked 
eagerly. 

They never had — not just as they saw it now. 
Softly the song came from their throats : 

“Come, lift your voices, let them ring 
To Fairview’s praise and glory; 

No stain shall darken any page 
Of Fairview’s splendid story. 

Then here’s to her, long may she light 
The path of honor and of right. 

Fairview, the bravest of the brave. 

Long may her noble banners wave.” 

Schuyler did not sing the second stanza. He 
dared not for fear they would discover how choked 
and husky his voice had become. Fairview! The 
best little school that ever was! 

His Fairview ! 


(I) 













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